


Young Blood

by Zimmmbardoz



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: The Last Stand (2006)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, Kind of Canon-compliant?, M/M, Post - X-Men: The Last Stand (2006)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimmmbardoz/pseuds/Zimmmbardoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post - X-Men: The Last Stand.</p><p>Charles Xavier wakes up in the ruined Gray residence disoriented, walking and looking very young.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter was kind of rushed and written on my phone, so apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

When Charles Xavier comes to, he is surprised to discover that he's lying on a cold, hard floor with the remains of the Gray residence scattered around him.

The sky is dark and foreboding above him as he blinks up at it from through a hole in the roof. He tries to breathe, but it feels shallow as if no air actually enters his lungs. Absentmindedly, as he's lying there, he reasons that he might be in a state of shock.

 _Calm down_ , he berates himself as he starts to hyperventilate, his lungs turning desperate for air. _Calm your mind, Charles_.

Eventually he remembers how to inhale and exhale properly and he coughs as his lungs violently protest as cold air rush in.

"Ow... bollocks," he rasps, his voice sounding funny with misuse. His whole body is sore, and his head is pounding. He wonders what happened to him and how much time had passed. What happened to his students after Phoenix had taken control over Jean and disintegrated him along with the house? Was Erik's okay?

Charles shifted slightly where he was lying, his body aching all over. He didn't know the extent of the damage Phoenix had done - had expected not to come back from it alive, really. Not after what happened to Scott.

His breath hitched; he had yet to mourn properly for one of his oldest students and friends; Alex's little brother who he wasn't able to protect.

No, this was not the time to dwell on that. He mentally composed himself, deciding that the best course of action would be to get out from this wreckage and find his X-men.

He expanded his telepathy a mile or so, trying to sense a familiar mind nearby. His search was however fruitless as he discovered that not only couldn't he sense a friendly presence nearby, but there was complete silence around him. The neighbourhood was completely abandoned.

Panic rose within him again as he briefly thought that he'd lost his power like so many years ago in the late 60's. But no, he could still sense the mental presence of a small nest of doves nearby, and the cat slinking along the pavement a few houses down.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't powerless, just alone and the with higher-order Theory of Mind. How very strange.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, his lower back aching more than any other part of his body. It was an effort to focus on anything else, as he looked around with swimming vision. He thinks he might pass out again.

"Focus, you silly old fool," he rubbed his eyes, attempting to have a proper look at the damage him and the house had taken.

The house was in shambles; in the dim light provided by the moon he saw the furniture was broken into splinters beyond repair and wooden pillars had caved in on themselves, barely supporting the roof up. He was thankful he hadn't been crushed yet. A light layer of dust indicated that the house had been abandoned for some time now and Charles frowned at the implications of it. Surely he couldn't have been unconscious for so long; his students would have come looking for him, wouldn't they?

He pushed himself further up on his elbows, twisting his upper body slightly in hopes that he could find any means of escape for him in the darkness. He hoped that his wheelchair was still intact. Pain rushed up his spine and down his legs as he twisted a bit too far around and he cried out, collapsing back onto the dirty floor.

Rolling over on his side, he clawed at his back, where an old scar from a bullet wound could be found. It felt like it was on fire, spreading itself through his body from his very fingertips to his toes.

That was when Charles realised that he could feel his toes.

He managed a pained, breathless laugh as a muscle in his calf convulsed and cramped painfully. This seemed to continue for a long time, but he relished on the sensations he hadn't felt in years.

When the pain finally diminished slightly, he lay there completely still, his breath coming out in short pants as he felt his own chest rise and fall with steady rhythms. The pain seemed to be focused and most intense on where he had been shot back in Cuba, but it had become bearable enough for him to get back up into a sitting position. Gingerly, he pulled his right leg to his chest. He held his breath while doing so and it was exhausting, but the feeling of triumph and pure happiness blooming in his chest made the effort worth it.

He laughed again; Charles threw his head back and laughed at the sky like he hadn't done in years. It felt so liberating.

A cold breeze passed by, and his brain registered for the first time since he woke that he was as bare as the day he was born. Embarrassment couldn't quite overshadow the feeling of joy he felt at the moment, but he was slightly annoyed with himself that he had somehow not noticed his state of undress before. What else could possibly passed him by if he had managed to miss such a crucial detail? He tried to reason with himself that he had been in pain - still was, and it was dark enough outside not to have noticed such an insignificant thing such as nudity.

 _Right_ , Charles heaved a sigh to himself, _plan of action – get decent, then find Storm and Logan. Simple enough…_ He remained in his sitting position, one knee drawn close to himself while the other lay stretched out before him. It might have been fear preventing him from moving, he wasn’t quite certain, but something kept him from standing up and walking out of there. Maybe it was the fear that the pain he had just experienced hadn’t been real, that maybe he wouldn’t be able to feel his legs and to walk after all. Maybe it was just him being a coward.

He could practically hear Erik saying just those last words, standing there with a superior expression on his face as he looked down at Charles. Charles gritted his teeth; he was not going to be taunted by some imagery of his former friend like that. He couldn’t bear it.

Without any further hesitance, he pulled his legs underneath him and pushed himself up onto two feet with more force than necessary, making him overbalance and stumble into a door that had survived the total trashing of the house. He stood there for a minute, catching his breath as he leaned towards the door for support. His lower back acted up again, but the pain was far more bearable this time around, as if it had healed itself within the short while it took him to get his bearings and get to his feet. He needed to get a move on.

The door eventually slid open after much pushing and pulling. Charles wanted to lie down again from what should have been an easy task but he soldiered on, deciding that he might as well explore the house and see if there were any clothes that had survived the fray.

He was pleased to note that he had found the master bedroom at first try. It was in the same state as the rest of the house it seemed like, but by some miracle a dresser with a vanity mirror had not been turned into pinewood like the rest of the furniture.

After making it halfway across the room, and after a brief rest on the queen size bed covered in dust, he made it over to the dresser. Stumbling slightly because of the strange feeling of walking again, he caught himself on the edge of the wooden top and heaved a breath of exhaustion. Getting back to Westchester was going to be a challenge, he thought tiredly as he looked up into the mirror, wondering if he looked as knackered as he felt.

For the third time that night, his breath caught in his throat. _This is ridiculous_.

It felt like seeing a ghost, like a friend long since passed, only it was _him_ ; him from over 40 years ago. If he still had his old heart he was certain that it would have given out on him when he felt a third panic attack taking hold of him.

At least it explained his now functioning legs.

“Jean, what have you done?”


	2. Welcome Home

The taxi pulls up to Westchester mansion just as dawn breaks. There's little sound coming from within, and Charles is thankful that most of the students are still asleep. He would like to avoid the attention of students before he could explain his sudden return to Storm, Hank and Logan.

He practically jumps out of the taxi as he mentally nudges the driver into believing that the now young man has already paid for the fair.

"Have a nice day, man," the guy says, and Charles feels slightly guilty as the taxi drives off. He checks the car's licence number and makes a mental note to make a generous and anonymous donation whenever he had the means at his disposal.

Turning around from where he was standing looking after the car, he heaved a sigh and looked at his home with trepidation and weariness. He had noticed the three gravestones upon his arrival, and it had darkened his mood considerably. He didn't know what he had expected, so when faced with the reality that neither Scott nor Jean had survived whatever had happened after his... disappearance, he just wanted to go and be by himself somewhere.

Squaring his shoulders, Charles walked to the doors, again thankful that all the youths inside were asleep.

He had read the driver's mind when he had catched the taxi earlier, which had lead to the discovery that it was Saturday, six months after he had been disintegrated and left his X-men to deal with Phoenix. He had also seen that there had been some sort of mutant attack on a facility, but his cab driver hadn't known many details, and as much as Charles had prodded he hadn't learned any other useful information.

Pausing by the door his hand hovered over the doorknob, unsure whether he should knock or walk in.

After a minute contemplation he opted for sneaking in, hoping that he could avoid getting noticed by the few early risers walking around. And, he reasoned, it was his house so why shouldn't he just walk straight in?

His footfalls were quiet as he walked down the hallway, the only sound being that of his bare feet softly hitting the creaking wooden panels.

He hadn't been able to find any shoes that fitted in Jean's old home, so he had to settle with going barefoot. He'd also have to settle with a pair of loose fitting track bottoms threatening to fall down and a plain white t-shirt. It looked like he was running around in his pyjamas. Luckily it was early enough in the morning for not a lot of people to notice his indecency, for which he was thankful. It was bad enough that he was running around looking so young that no one would take him seriously anymore. Not that he was complaining about the running thing, of course.

He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't notice the presence of another mind approaching him before it pushed him roughly up against the wall. Charles gasped at the impact.

"Who are you? What do you want?” Logan growled at him, his face only inches away from Charles' own.

Charles could see his nostrils flaring.

"L-Logan," Charles stuttered, taken by surprise by the assault. He hadn't even considered the possibility that his fellow mutants wouldn't recognise him looking like this. He supposed that the hair and the walking would make that difficult. "Logan, it's me, Charles,"

He hadn't expected the punch to the face, which made an unsettling crunching noise upon impact.

"You show some respect for the dead there Bub, or I might have to mess that pretty face of yours up some more,"

There were some very imaginative and painful-looking scenarios that passed through Logan’s mind, and Charles cringed slightly despite himself. He had no doubt that the other man would go through with them if provoked enough, and someone sneaking in unannounced and unwelcomed to a school fool of teenagers and children claiming he was someone thought dead was more than enough reason.

Charles hadn’t done nor needed to place two fingers at his temple to focus for years, but now, in this body, it seemed completely natural for him to do so.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Logan shook him slightly, glaring suspiciously at him. “Don’t even think about trying anything funny, kid.”

Despite his usually calm and patient nature, Charles started to feel bored and slightly annoyed by the situation. He knew that Logan was just being protective of the children, but he’d really appreciate it if the other man would just calm down enough to listen for once.

_‘Listen to me, my friend. I am truly who I say I am, despite appearances. As much as I am thankful that you are concerned for the safety of the children, I would be very happy if you put a stop to that horrible imagery of throwing me out on my head from the second floor window.’_

Logan’s eyes went wide with surprise, his grip on the shirt tightening ever so slightly. “Professor? You died. Jean killed you… How?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion and his voice turned into a growl.

 _Always so paranoid,_ Charles thought to himself with a sigh, before raising his hands towards Logan’s temples. “May I?” he asked wriggling his fingers, knowing that he was pushing Wolverine’s fragile sense of trust to its’ limits.

There was a faint sound of a sniff as Logan looked at him imploringly before the man nodded carefully, allowing Charles into his mind.

Charles’ brow furrowed as he concentrated on the memory he was projecting into his friend’s mind, trying to recall every sensation and emotion he had felt since he woke up. He chose not to conceive too much about any of the happenings in the Gray residence from before he was obliterated, knowing that the other man would not have taken kindly to Jean’s death. Instead he added bits and pieces of other memories, hoping it was enough to convince the other man of his identity. _Charles Xavier_.

They remained like that for what seemed like a long time before Charles let go of the mental link he’d created between them in exhaustion. The questioning look Logan gave him made him explain, “It seems like the transformation, or whatever this is,” Charles gestured to his young, healthy body, “has taken quite a toll on me both physically and mentally. I probably won’t be of much use whatsoever before I get some rest.”

Logan stared, quietly and calculating.

Charles sighed, “Also, Logan; please let go of me.”

It was as if the other man had been burned as he let go of Charles, backing away a few steps. Charles, not feeling like his legs would support him at the moment, slid to the floor and let his head fall back against the wall with a soft _thump_.

“Thank you,” he said with a lazy, grateful smile.

Logan just looked at him, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. After a minute all he said to Charles was, “Stay here,” sounding only mildly threatening, and left the telepath by himself slumped over in the hallway.

“Okay,” Charles agreed sleepily, feeling his eyes falling shut. As if he would be even able to go anywhere right now.

                                                                      ***

He woke to the sound of whispering and the feel of several curious minds around him. Realising he'd fallen asleep just where Logan had left him on the floor he winced as he thought about what that would do to his old back.

"Where do you think he came from?"

"Do you think he's a mutant too?"

"Why isn't he wearing any shoes?"

So the children were awake; probably woken up by the commotion Logan had made earlier.

Charles groaned, realising that he'd have a lot of explaining to do; not that he'd be able to give any answers to whatever questions his students might throw at him.

"He's awake!" That had been Kitty. A hushed silence fell over the group.

As Charles opened his eyes he saw that they were standing around him in a half-circle, effectively trapping him against the wall.

He imagine that this is how a caged animal at the zoo felt like. "Uhm," is the only sound he manages as they stare down at him.

"Everyone, please return to your rooms. Logan and I need to speak to this one." Storm's voice seem to break whatever spell that had entranced the children, and Charles sagged with relief against the wall as they left muttering among themselves.

The relief was short-lived however, as the two adults stood there inspecting him in silence.

Charles dragged a hand over his head, startled as his fingers were met with soft strands of hair. He stared at his hand which was tingling with the foreign feeling, before visibly shaking himself out of his stupor, "I believe we should move this conversation to somewhere more private. My study perhaps?"

Logan quirked an amused eyebrow at Storm who couldn't quite hide her surprise. "Told you," Logan smirked, helping the professor to his feet.

Charles, not really finding the situation humorous at the moment accepted the offered hand with a quiet "Thanks," before heading towards his study, not looking back to see if they were following him. The only indication that they were was the faint buzz of two minds trailing behind him.

Arriving at his office, he was pleased to note that it had remained untouched in his absence. Though he wouldn't blame his staff if they had chosen to reassign it to Storm, who he assumed was currently in charge of the school, he found it oddly touching that it was as he'd left it.

He walked over to his desk, relishing in the tickling feeling of his bare feet sliding across the carpet. There was no dust lying about, though the many documents that he’d littered across the tabletop didn’t seem to be out of place at all. A worn copy of T.H. White’s _Once and Future King_ also lay on his desk, and he stroked the crinkled paper fondly. It was Erik’s favourite.

“Professor?”

Storm and Logan was watching him uncomfortably from the doorway, as if they thought they were intruding or... Oh.

Charles turned towards them, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed casually across his chest. “I do understand your hesitance, but I can assure you, it is me. I am however truly sorry for whatever grief I’ve put you both through, and though I am not sure under what circumstances I’ve been brought back on, I will try not to cause you to feel... uncomfortable.” Like they were making him feel right now.

Storm seemed to snap out of whatever shock she was experiencing; “Oh no Professor, please don’t feel like you’re not welcome! You’re family, and this is your home after all,” She rushed, her face etched with worry.

“My dear, do not think I take offence. To be honest, I’m just as surprised as both of you,” _Probably more so, ‘cause I’m bloody terrified_. He gave her a reassuring smile and she seemingly relaxed.

“So,” Charles continued, “As interesting as this may be, maybe we should start with what has happened in my absence?”

Both of the mutants’ minds became a flurry of vivid memories. They were so colourful and so rapid in succession that Charles was not able to get a proper grasp on any of them.

“Please, one at a time,” he said, feeling a headache steadily approaching.

Memories started to slow, becoming clearer and more comprehensible, but just as he was able to focus enough on the particulars the study door opened and in came an apprehensive looking Hank.

“Storm. Logan. I heard the children whispering about some stranger in the school, and...” Hank seemed to freeze in his track as he noticed Charles standing there, looking just like when they had meet in the CIA base all those years ago. “Is that...” he whispered with impossibly wide eyes.

Before Charles or any of the other two occupants in the room knew what had happened, the now young telepath had been scooped up in a crushing hug by his long-time friend.

“My god, Professor... Charles, how are you... This is impossible!” Hank stuttered incomprehensibly, while the other man patted him on the back sympathetically.

“I don’t know, old friend. I am very happy to see you too though,”

Storm and Logan stared at them as the now young man, looking so small in Hank’s arms, awkwardly comforted the blue, blubbering giant.

Hank eventually put the professor back on solid ground, and took a step away, scrutinising him thoroughly, “So you don’t know what happened? Do you feel any different?” Hank was in full scientist mode now.

Charles considered the last question; was he? He supposed, without taking into consideration the obvious ones, he did feel different. Lighter, more energised despite the initial exhaustion. He was feeling the benefits of a youthful, healthy body, he guessed.

“I actually hope you’d be able to tell me that after a few tests, Hank, because I have no clue as to what has happened to me. And to answer your second question; Yes, I guess I do. I feel good. Better than I have in years, in fact. Also, have you noticed I am walking?” The last part was said with great enthusiasm, Charles’ bright smile filling the room.

It turned out that Hank hadn’t. “That is truly remarkable! I am really happy for you, Professor.” He then turned thoughtful, considering this new piece of information. “That would suggest however that this is not simply a matter of you being somehow turned _into_ a younger version of yourself, but rather you having _reversed_ back into the body of your former self. This is of course assuming that your paralysis would – “

“Hank, stop talking,” Charles said, trying to conceal his smirk as Logan was looking at the diplomat with increasing annoyance and confusion.

Wolverine shot Charles a grateful look as Hank’s mouth snapped shut.

“Now, back to the matter at hand – Can someone please tell me what has happened in the past six months?”

Again, his mind seemed to be assaulted with the same flurry of memories and Charles pinched the bridge of nose; _this might take a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure how I feel about this chapter as it didn't quite turn out how I'd liked it to; I do hope yous all will enjoyed it anyways :)


	3. Penny for your thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and kudos! They're all loved :D  
> Also; lots of spelling and grammar mistakes ahead. Ye been warned.

Eventually Charles was escorted to his old room. He had initially protested, saying that he'd rather just stay in his study for a while to consult his books about whatever phenomenon that had happened to him. Storm had been quite persistent about getting some rest though, and he had finally relented when Logan had made some comment about him smelling of dirt and sawdust. Charles supposed that, technically, he hadn't had a proper bath in weeks and months, and the thought had made his face scrunch up in disgust, causing a snort to escape from Hank. Charles briefly wondered if the other man was reminiscing about the years they had lived alone in the mansion together, when 'personal hygiene' hadn't even been part of the telepath's vocabulary beyond the basic rinse and shave.

As Storm was about to leave, she made him promise to come see her once he felt up to it, and not to worry about the children, though it was probably for the best not to let them in on what was happening right now.

"I'm glad you're back, Professor," she had said quietly and she hugged him.

His heart, which he felt had already suffered enough this morning, seemed to get stuck in his throat, "Oh, Ororo, you shouldn't be missing an old man such as I," If she noticed the hitch in his voice she chose not to comment, as she left him with a sad smile and a wave.

He closed the door carefully behind her, and rested his head against the hard wood as he listens to the sound and presence of her mind grow fainter in his own as distance was put between them. It's only after her thoughts had blended with the rest of the many other minds in the house he pushed himself away. He stumbled over the bedroom floor as he walked over to the en-suite connected to his room.

On his way to the bathroom he thought about what he should do now. Hank had told him that he'd look into what could have caused his sudden youthfulness, but couldn't make any promises that he was going to find anything - the only person who probably could have had died by Logan's hands.

Which was another issue; Charles wanted to talk to the other man about how he was dealing with everything, Jean's death in particular, but he didn't know whether Logan would accept his help, especially the way Charles looked now. Though the telepath knew that they both shared a mutual respect - had done for quite some time now, he couldn't help to have noticed the sceptical, hesitant look Logan kept casting his way along with thoughts clouded with doubt about whether this whelp was who he claimed to be.

Charles didn't blame Logan for being distrustful of him right now - it was in the man’s nature after all, but he certainly did not appreciate being called a whelp, even if it had been thought in privacy of Logan's own mind.

And Charles hadn't even started considering the legal repercussions of his resurrection; the prospect was too daunting to even think about.

Reaching the bathroom, he flipped the light switch. Fluorescent, white lights seemed to temporarily blind him, and he scrunched his eyes shut, grabbing hold of the sink to balance his already unsteady feet.

"Fuck's sake," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't swear very often, but he felt that right now it was perfectly justifiable.

Finally blinking the dark spots from his vision, he took a look at himself in the mirror and instantly wished he'd just remained blinded by the light.

He looked horrible. Dark circles and freckles were standing in stark contrast to his pale skin, making him look ill and ready to topple over any second. His hair - and god, wasn't that a something he'd missed for the last 30 years, looked limp and greasy against his forehead. The clothes he'd taken from Jean's house were slack and unfitted for his now small frame which was hunched awkwardly to one side. It was the first time in long that he felt so uncomfortable in his own shell; not since he'd been paralysed all those years ago. Turning away, Charles pulled the borrowed t-shirt over his head, not wanting to see the skinny, boyish body he now possessed.

He threw the shirt on the floor as he kicked off the trousers on his way to the shower.

The water was warm and welcoming, and soothed his battered body nicely. Charles sighed in contentment, letting water cascade down his back and legs.

Charles took his time standing there, letting himself relax and mind wander for the first time since he'd woken up naked and disoriented in the wee hours of the morning.

He found his mind drifting to Raven and where she was at the moment. Probably with Erik somewhere, but the information of where his old friend currently kept himself had been suspiciously lacking from his friends' minds. Not that he had outright asked, because that would have set both Hank and Logan off - he might have just sneaked a peak earlier, when he had a discussion with Hank about the intricacies of time travel. He considered asking Storm, but worried that it might raise questions that he wasn't sure if he was willing to answer.

Using Cerebro was an option, but he was concerened of what kind of control he currently had of his telepathy. Even though he had successfully used the machine last time he'd been around this age, it was likely that his current hazardous state of mind would affect the outcome of his search.

He wanted to see Erik though. Wanted to see the look on his friend's face when he saw Charles standing there, looking like the day they had met. The telepath could imagine the brightness in the other man's eyes as he saw Charles walking; the guilt which had been eating at Erik for the last fifty years relinquishing it's hold if only a little.

The image made Charles smile and he felt warmth pool in the pit of his stomach. It also made something he hadn't felt properly in a long time stir.

His smile widened, and his hand traced downwards, along the curve of one hip and into dark curls.

 _Hello, old friend_.

The moment was broken when there was a loud knock on the bathroom door, "Professor, are you in there?" It was Logan.

Charles bit his lip, trying to suppress the noise escaping him. He cursed the other man's bad timing, and briefly considered mentally suggesting to him to just disappear for a while. Sighing, he let his hands fall to his side, "Just a minute!"

Stepping out of the shower, he quickly dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist.

"Yes, Logan?" he asked when opened the door.

Logan was standing on the other side, radiating amusement and holding a change of clean clothes. "Storm asked me to give you these,"

Charles took the offered garments and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Yeah, not exactly your style, but she thought it would be best if you tried to blend in a bit by dressing your age," Logan chuckled as he lit a cigar.

The remark stung, but Charles decided to ignore the comment, and instead said, "It's better than what I was wearing at the very least. Thank you,"

Logan nodded, "I'll leave you to it then," and left.

Walking back into his room, Charles dropped the clothes on his bed and walked over to the big window overlooking the grounds. Some younger children were playing ball outside on one of the courts, laughing and shouting at each other, while a few older students were sitting in a circle on the grass a bit further away, seeming to be in an avid discussion about whatever teenagers talked about these days.

Charles dragged a hand through his still wet hair, looking beyond the well-kept gardens and his students enjoying their Saturday. It used to different; it used to be Erik, Raven, him and everyone else out there, training and discussing and enjoying the time they had together. Now Sean was dead, god knew where Alex was, and Raven and Erik were on the other side of a brewing war. ‘Conflicting ideologies,’ Erik had called it, ‘Bollocks’ is what Charles called it. He would find them again though, Erik and Raven. He was certain they could make it work, make them see reason. Charles didn’t believe in coincidence or faith, but he believed in second chances, and maybe this was it. Maybe…

A particularly high-pitched squeal of joy could be heard from one of the children and Charles snapped out of his thoughts. He shook his head, water dripping everywhere as he stepped away from the windowsill. No, he thought, he was being silly. This was the work of something else; brought upon him like a punishment of some kind, not some ‘higher power’ trying to set things right.

Walking over to the bed again, he looked at the clothes Storm had picked out for him. Plain dark trousers and an equally plain blue v-necked shirt; at least it was inconspicuous. After putting everything on and inspecting himself briefly in the mirror, he stepped out of his room and into the hallway, deciding that he couldn’t stand to spend another second with only his thoughts for company.

The mansion felt alive around him, with all the thoughts and emotion swirling and blending together in every nook and corner. Most of the children were either outside or in their rooms, only the youngest of the children were running around and playing in the hallways. A pair of twins ran past him; one chasing the other as they giggled. Neither paid him any mind however, as they continued playing.

Charles didn’t know where he was going to go; he didn’t feel ready to pick up the conversation where they’d left off last time with Hank, Storm or Logan right now, but he wasn’t sure if he could reveal himself to the children just yet. He didn’t want to upset the children unnecessarily, and having their professor return from the dead could be quite upsetting to some. Especially if it was only temporarily, because for all he knew, he could very well just drop dead all over again. No, definitely not a good idea... Storm was right. Best to stay hidden.

Suddenly his stomach rumbled loudly and he realised with a start that he was absolutely famished. _Well, that can most certainly be remedied,_ he thought, and with a spring to his steps he made his way towards the kitchen.

                                                                       ***

Getting to the kitchen had been far more difficult than he’d expected. Apparently some of the children that had been staying outside had decided to venture indoors and occupy the hallway, making him have to use all the skill he had acquired as a child when hiding from Cain to hide and dodge them as they passed him. He’d huffed in slight annoyance; it was such a beautiful day, and they very staying inside making life more difficult for him. He couldn’t say he appreciated the sentiment.

Thankfully, the kitchen was empty.

Sliding the door shut behind him, Charles opened the fridge to find anything edible and easily prepared. He wasn’t the greatest chef – ‘ _Guys, find the fire extinguisher, Charles’ cooking dinner tonight!’_ – but he managed. Settling for a jam and toast, he chucked the ingredients at the counter, and put the kettle on so he could make a cup of tea as well.

As the water started to boil there was a noise in the hallway and Bobby stumbled in laughing, followed by a giggling Kitty.

Charles heart skipped a beat as their eyes fell on him, and they quieted. There was an awkward pause, then;

“Oh, hi, it’s you!” Kitty said all warm and welcoming smiles. Her thoughts had turned a far more disconcerting direction however, and Charles felt himself blush as bit the inside of his cheek.

His eyes shifted towards the door, considering the possibility of a quick escape. “Uh...”

 _I don’t think I ever seen eyes so beautifully blue..._ “You’re new here, right? We’re sorry about the reception you got earlier this morning, but people don’t usually tend to just so casually fall asleep in the hallway after a row with Logan,”

Wait, they thought he was just a new student? Charles blinked in surprised, struck silent for once. It was a bit of a relief they didn’t recognise him; it prevented a whole lot of questioning, which he at the moment considered a good thing since he wasn’t able to provide any answers himself. But would it be preferable to pretend he was one of the few mature students taken in by the school? Deceiving his students into believing he was one of them seemed ethically questionable at best, and he was nothing if not morally just. Best tell them the truth, he decided.

“Actually – “

“Oh my god, did he hit you?” Bobby interrupted, pointing to Charles’ face.

“Uh, what?”

“You’ve got a massive shiner on your face, man,”

Gingerly Charles traced his fingers over his cheekbone where Logan had hit him earlier. It had been sore, but so had the rest of his body been so it didn’t seem that serious in the scheme of things. “Oh, right. I hadn’t really noticed, I guess...”

_‘Taking a punch from Logan so casually is pretty badass,’_

Bobby’s mind was like an open book and Charles couldn’t quite help himself. Raven had always called him a show-off, “I suppose it is pretty ‘badass’, yes, but I think it would be ill-advised to provoke him again,”

Kitty looked confused and Bobby’s eyes widened comically. “Did you just – “

“Read your mind? Yes, I’m sorry. I try to stay out of peoples’ heads, but sometimes I can’t seem to quite help myself I’m afraid,”

They gave each other a brief, slightly pained glance, as if they shared a painful memory. The exchange was quite telling and Charles wondered whether Anna Marie was aware of the two’s relationship, but decided he’d rather not want to know.

Kitty turned to him, smile back in place, “So you’re a telepath then?” _Just like Professor Xavier_... the thought was accompanied by a tide of sorrow. Charles felt like he was drowning in it.

“It’s one of the many things my mutation allows me to do, yes,” Trying to remain unaffected provided a challenge, but he managed. He didn’t know how long he could deal with staying here though. Maybe going back to the school had been a mistake; he seemed to only cause more hurt and upset than what he was worth.

Bobby seemed to consider this, “So you can do other mind stuff as well? Quite a useful mutation, wouldn’t it be?” Funnily enough, Bobby’s thoughts went to hustling and cheap magic tricks. It always seemed to be what people thought he did with his powers; wasn’t it possible to be a fair, honest person anymore?

With an amused twist to his mouth, Charles said, “I can assure you that I always play fair, Mr. Drake,”.

A miffed expression appeared on the boy’s face before he squared his shoulders, not to be deterred in front of the girl in the room. No one had informed Charles that they were apparently fighting for Kitty’s attention, and he felt a bit disgusted that Bobby thought they were. He was old enough to be her granddad!

“Well, I for one wouldn’t want to play games if I knew that I was going to lose for certain. It’s far more interesting when you don’t know what to expect from your opponents, don’t you think?”

The telepath blinked at the boy in front of him, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly,”

“I’m just saying that it’s far more fun to compete when no one has an advantage such as telepathy. I guess what I’m saying is, that it is kind of nice when everyone’s on equal ground, you know?”

Something clicked into place in Charles mind.

“Hey, are you okay? I didn’t mean any offence, man,”

Shaking himself, Charles smiled reassuringly, “No offence taken, don’t worry... I’m sorry, but I just realised something, so I have to go,”

He turned, leaving the two teenagers standing there confused. He didn’t have time to worry about them or his snack right now though; they could wait.

What couldn’t wait was Erik, and Charles knew where to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't really work out how I was going to do this last bit and make it believable and enjoyable at the same time, so this is how it turned out. I'm not certain how I feel about it yet. 
> 
> Hopefully more excitement and actual stuff happening in the next chapter though! (Might change this one some before that tho')


	4. Talk in the Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the really late update, but I've been away in Scotland all weekend at T in the Park!  
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter though!

The park was filled with families, couples holding hands, and groups of friends enjoying the sun together. Charles was sitting alone on one of the benches, oblivious to all of this and entirely focused on the scene in front of him.

He’d found Erik sitting by himself by one of the many chess boards that the park provided, staring in deep concentrations at the chess pieces in front of him. For all intents and purposes he appeared to be just a lonely, old gentleman wanting to enjoy the lovely weather like everyone else. He almost seemed serene where he sat, his silvery white hair hidden underneath a cap, a thoughtful expression on his lined face.

When he had arrived at the entrance, Charles had recognised the oh-so-familiar mind the instant he had set foot inside, but for some unfathomable reason he had frozen on sight of the other mutant and hadn’t dared approach him quite yet. He opted for hiding in plain sight and observe Erik for a while, knowing that Erik wouldn’t suspect the young, walking, hairy boy sitting on the bench a few feet away for being his former associate and friend.

He’d tried to justify his hesitance by telling himself that he was only assessing the situation and whether the other man was planning something, though secretly knowing that Erik wouldn’t be sitting in the park on a sunny day, surrounded by humans none the less, to plot the X-men’s demise.

Eventually Charles couldn’t come up with any reason not to go talk to the man, so he bit the bullet and rose from his seat, approaching his friend with more confidence than he felt.

"May I sit?" he asked politely, while intently studying the older mutant's reaction to his presence.

"No." Erik doesn't as much as glance at him, his shoulders hunched slightly by the intrusion.

Charles was a bit miffed by the flat out rejection. He knew Erik was neither approachable nor friendly towards strangers, but he usually, at the very least, took some time to properly humiliate his victims before he sent them off with their tails between their legs. Something was off.

Charles sat down. "Don't you even have time for an old friend?"

Whatever trance Erik had been in was broken, and he looked up sharply, "Listen, you insolent, little -"

"Erik, I'd appreciate it if you didn't address me like that,"

Erik openly gaped at him, and Charles smiled reassuringly, "Yes, I know it's -"

He was cut off when a chess piece hit him square in the face.

"Erik!"

The other man blinked at him in astonishment, "Charles?" He sounded like he'd seen a ghost. The now young telepath supposed he kind of had.

Charles did however find this routine getting a bit repetitive. Yes, he had been dead but now he wasn’t. Some scientific anomaly, he was sure. That, or Jean Gray had never actually intended to kill him in the first place... Now that’s a thought.

“Please don't be alarmed, Erik. I’m just here for a chat.”

For some reason unknown to Charles, Erik’s face and mind twisted with emotions; rage, sorrow, hurt and confusion. “Who are you?”

“Oh, for the love of –” not this again; he’d already been through it once with Logan this morning, and he’d rather not repeat what happened then with Erik. Erik would cause more damage than Logan ever would have, especially if he thought that some wee bastard was running around with the late Charles Xavier’s younger face. Logan might not have recognised Charles’ young exterior, but Magneto most certainly did.

The chess board rattled alarmingly.

‘ _Erik, compose yourself! We are in the middle of the public eye, and I’d rather you’d not make a scene,’_ The projected thought was sounding rather exasperated, if not a bit scolding. It was the same tone he usually reserved for his students when they were being particularly difficult.

The display of power stopped, and it was as if Erik looked at him strangely. The anger and hurt was still there, but there was also confusion and hesitance, like he wasn’t sure that he believed what he was seeing. Surprisingly there was also a tiny bit of mocking amusement, well concealed underneath the surface. It grated at Charles, and made him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“What?” He asked, his young voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

Erik actually had the gall to laugh at him, “Oh Charles, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Charles felt his face flush with annoyance, and he glared at Erik who was now resetting the board for a new game, “How are you so calm about this?”

“Why don’t you just read my mind?” Erik said spitefully.

This conversation was going nowhere fast, and Charles willed himself to take a calming breath. It would do them no good if they kept talking to each other like this; one of them would end up leaving in frustration without either of them being any wiser, making this whole trip pointless.

“Just – Will you please just listen?” he said leaning back in his chair, feeling it rock unsteadily underneath his weight.

Erik huffed, and looked away, “Fine.”

Charles tells him the story of how he’d woken up and gotten to Westchester in words, knowing that though Erik was more than familiar and more comfortable than most with Charles’ telepathy, Charles did not want to break the fragile trust between them. He could sense Erik’s uneasiness and distrust in regards to Charles, which was why he felt that intruding on the other’s thoughts would not be a good idea at the moment.

When he was finished Erik studied him quietly, making Charles once again shift uncomfortably where he was sitting.

“So I was hoping,” Charles said choosing his words with care, “that you might be able to help. I know you probably know very little, but you got some connections and you were also the last person to talk to Jean before – “

“Enough!”

Charles startled, surprised by the sudden outburst. “Erik, what – “

“You are dead, I saw you die. Not even you can rise from the dead, Charles, no matter how powerful you are. And certainly not looking like this; if I’m going to be tricked, at least pick something more convincing, because this – “ he gestured to Charles, “only serves to bring up memories I’d rather forget!”

There was an uneasy silence. Charles looked around, noticing that people close to them were now staring at them, “Erik, please calm down. I just need help with some answers, and you –”

Erik stood abruptly, knocking over his chair in his hurry, “No, I’d rather not. If I could, I would kill you myself right now,”

Charles felt a pang of hurt in his chest, which was soon replaced by rage. He could understand that Erik was confused about the situation, but dishing out such threats was definitely uncalled for! He was coming to him for help, not to be rejected so cruelly! But no, getting angry was not the solution. His friend was confused, and needed to get this – whatever this was, off his chest.  

In a carefully neutral tone, Charles asked, “So why don’t you then?” His voice was barely above a whisper, as if coaxing a skittish dog out of its cage.

A hushed silence seemed to fall over the park, and the world seemed to narrow down to the two men at the chessboard; one standing looking ready to stalk off any second, and the other still seated with one leg over the other as he looked searchingly at his companion.

Then, the illusion of privacy was shattered as a child ran over to them squealing, quickly followed by her mother who was muttering apologies; “I am truly sorry – didn’t mean to interrupt... Cassie, you can’t just run off like that!”

Charles smiled down at the little girl beaming up at him, “That’s quite alright madam, we were just –,“ he turned towards Erik, when he realised that the man had vanished. “... talking.”

“Again, I’m terribly sorry – she doesn’t usually do this! ... Are you okay, young man?” The woman suddenly asked, concern in clouding her voice as she lifted her daughter up.

The words came crashing down on him, and Charles realised that he must have let his disappointment show on his face. “Yes... Yes, I am quite alright, thank you,” he said absentmindedly as he scanned the grassy grounds in the park for a head covered in silver.

Mother and child departed with a last apology, leaving Charles sitting there in his chair by the board.

“Now what do you do, Xavier?” he asked himself, as he realised that his only source of answers might go into hiding for good. That, or come kill what he thought was some heinous trick of his mind. Illogical as it was, it would probably make Erik feel better at least.

Heaving a sigh in defeat, Charles decided that it was probably best to head back to the mansion. Maybe Erik wouldn’t help him, but he certainly had students that would.

***

Erik was fuming as he slipped out of the park entrance unnoticed. When he had left his apartment this morning this mockery was not what he had expected; and a mockery looking like Charles from when they had first met in those dark waters back in ’62 no less!

He had just been enjoying the sun and chess by himself like usual, quietly trying to access the dormant genes within which allowed him to control and feel the metal in the small pieces on the board, when a young man – merely a boy, had the _nerve_ to approach him. At first Erik had not even been bothered to look at the intruder asking to sit, knowing that if it was one of those bloody Jehovah’s witnesses or some boy scout the best way to get rid of them was by simply dismissing them. This one was however persistent and quickly got on his nerves, which was why, when Erik intended to scare the boy off, he was shocked into silence by the figure of one alive and breathing Charles Xavier.

He couldn’t believe his eyes at first, hope and joy filling his chest in a way it hadn’t done in what felt like years, but it was quickly dampened by the realisation that Charles was not only dead, but was also past his youthful prime long before Jean Gray had killed him. The chess-piece went flying before he could even think about what he was doing properly, hoping that it would make the trick of mind or illusion vanish by the mere impact. If Erik had more control over his powers at the moment, he would have hit the fake in the face with something much more solid than a chess-piece though. Charles didn’t go away however, and Erik pretended to listen as the fake talked. He even dared to ask for his help! No, the clone or whatever it was might have given a very accurate and believable performance, but the real Charles would never have sought out Erik so eagerly, which was what had infuriated the old mutant more than anything. The child had been a welcome and necessary distraction allowing him to slip away before he actually went through with his threat about killing the young man before him. No matter how tempting it was, a public execution would only draw attention he did not want. Not without the full use of his powers.

Erik wondered who was capable of such cruelty and held such a grudge towards him that they would haunt him with the images of his once dearest friend.

There were only a handful of people who could depict the dead telepath so well; Hank would never do such a thing, Moira would not have the means to do so, and Mystique was currently de-powered and wasting away in a CIA cell somewhere. She would also, hopefully, have enough respect for him and her late pseudo-brother to not perform such a disrespectful act even if she could. Which only left a vengeful telepath who have access to his memories, and had the power of optical illusions or shape-shifting.

Maybe he should have taken the boy with him, questioned him for a bit to get more information. The fake Charles might not willingly give Erik the information, but everyone has a breaking-point; Shaw had taught him that much.

Finally arriving back at his small apartment, having taken the long route in case Charles had followed him, Erik hung his hat and coat at the hat stand by the entrance and walked into the kitchen. It was about dinnertime and he knew that he had some leftovers from the day before he needed to eat before it went off. Waste not want not.

As he watched the food heat in the microwave, the thought that he might have acted rashly, shouting and running away like that. The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that he should have heard the fake Charles out more – found out his intentions.

When the microwave finished spinning with the ring of the bell, Erik had decided what he was going to do; he was going to find Charles again and find out what he wanted from Erik.

Then he’d honour his old friend by killing his impersonator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shifted POVs in this one, because I finally found out what I want to do with this story! It will mostly be Charles' POV throughout, but Erik's will be absolutely crucial as this all progresses.


	5. Wake Up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive response on this! I never dreamed that this would get much attention! So thank you all of you!

It was almost evening when Charles reluctantly returned to the mansion. He had been drifting around the outskirts of Westchester County for a while after leaving the park, needing the quiet and time to think about things.

He wasn’t quite sure what had transpired between himself and Erik in the park, but the other man had clearly been upset upon seeing Charles; why was still unclear to the telepath. It seemed ridiculous that he wouldn’t know seeing as he could have easily read his friend’s mind, but he didn’t want to risk alienating Erik further by intruding on the man’s privacy.

What was he going to do now though? Erik didn’t want anything to do with him and he couldn’t go back to teaching at the school as Professor X looking like one of his students himself. He didn’t even have a bloody identity anymore because he was apparently and officially dead! Hank or Moira could maybe help with that though, but then there was the whole age issue and he wasn’t sure whether he was willing to deal with whatever consequences that entailed. Not yet anyway.

So he walked, trying to think of what his next move should be.

When he ascended the doorsteps to the school it was in defeat. He hadn’t figured out any solutions to his problems with Erik or his now non-existent identity and he felt more tired than he had done in years, both mentally and physically. He supposed that the trials of the day were catching up to him, and with a slight start he realised that he had only been back from the afterlife for barely a day. For some reason this annoyed him to no end, knowing that so much had happened just within the last few hours, but he was almost more clueless now than when he woke up. The thought made a strange spark of anger ignite within his chest, but he quickly squashed it with the knowledge that such emotions never led to anything good. He tried to calm his turbulent thoughts, instead focusing on his surroundings which served as a welcoming distraction.

It was a quiet night outside, with only a few clouds covering the dark skies above him. The children had long since gone back inside and Charles could hear their cheerful thoughts echoing through the rooms of the mansion.

He stood there listening, but not intruding, on the gentle sounds around him when suddenly the front door opened with a loud bang.

Charles hadn’t jumped so high since secondary school when he had been forced onto the pommel horse by his P.E. teacher.

“Oh thank god,” Storm rushed past Logan who was standing at the entrance and grabbed Charles by the shoulders, inspecting him.

Charles, shocked into silence, stood there frozen as Storm looked him over to check whether there had been any damage done to him. When she found that there were none she seemed pleased enough to let him go and give him enough space so her and Logan could talk to him properly.

He decided that they might want an explanation for his sudden absence, “Ororo, Logan, if you are – “

“Where have you been?” The words were sharp and unmistakably disapproving, and Charles winced with guilt he wasn’t even aware of he had felt before Storm addressed him like that. It wasn’t like Ororo had never been frank with him before, but she was hardly known for her disapproving manner, though she seemed to have a knack for making one feel terrible for even the slightest of wrong-doings with just a small change of inflection to her words.

“I fancied a dander, so I walked along the river and about for a while,” It wasn’t a complete lie, and Charles thought that it was better than telling them, his students, that he had actually sought out their enemy, who had on multiple occasion tried to kill them, for help.  
He felt another wave of guilt, this one more easily understandable, as he realised that he had gone to Erik for help for his current predicament rather than his team, his friends. People probably far more equipped, capable and willing to help than the metal-manipulator.

“I’m sorry Professor, but I’m not sure how good idea it is to walk away unattended like that. Not when we don’t know what’s happening to you,” Storm said, her voice softening a little at Charles guilty expression.

It dawned on Charles that they were treating him like just another misbehaving student, and the anger he had felt earlier seemed to come to life again; the frustration from earlier only blurring with the humiliation that he was being treated like a child by one of his own students. “I am more than capable to take care of myself, thanks,” his voice was colder than he intended but he heeded it no attention as he looked away from the two standing in front of him.

Storm’s mouth twisted worriedly and it looked like she wanted to say something else to him, but was interrupted by Logan, “We’re not intent on babying you Professor, but Storm here was simply worried that you might have... disappeared again, so to speak,”

Charles felt himself deflate a little at that, “Right. Yes. I can understand that... I am sorry. Wandering off like that was inconsiderate of me,” he didn’t apologise for his cold behaviour just now though. He refused to be treated differently just because he now had yet to grow comfortable in his own skin – as an old man suddenly in a much younger body and a younger body growing into adulthood.

Storm nodded and gave one of those weak smiles she seemed so fond of using around him recently, before she turned around to head back inside, “Dinner was an hour ago, but there should be some left-over in the fridge, if Piotr hasn’t eaten it that is,”

There was a chuckle from Logan, “Don’t worry, I hid it well,” he said, and clapped a hand on Charles’ shoulder. A strange jolt coursed through the telepath, and he snapped his head to the side to see whether Logan had felt it too. The other man’s face mirrored his own surprise.

“Did you just – “Logan started, then seemed to think better of it and brushed past Charles towards the entrance, “I’m sure it’s nothing. If you’ll come with me Chuck, I’ll show you where I hid the stash,”

Charles felt his stomach clench painfully, and he remembered that he had yet to eat anything that day. No wonder he was acting like such a grumpy old man. The prospect of proper food lifted his mood considerably, and forgetting all about the issues that had been troubling him for the most parts of the day he gladly walked with Logan to the kitchen.

***

After Charles had been properly fed, he and Logan had stayed in the kitchen for a while just chatting. It was unlike the other man to engage in such casual cultural norms, but he had stayed and made sure that Charles had eaten everything left for him. He had then actually been escorted to his room, though that had been quite convenient considering none of the younger students dared to interrupt him and Logan as they walked together.

The telepath was quite certain that he was being babysat; despite the mutual respect he and his team shared, they did apparently not trust him not to run off again. Either that or they might worry that he would just vanish into thin air. He didn’t know nor did he care to cross-examine their minds for it.

He’d had been left alone in his room after Logan had given a gruff ‘good night’. Charles had calmly walked to the bed, trying to keep the composure he would have as an old man, he felt however overwhelmingly giddy despite his exhaustion, and couldn’t help himself as he literally jumped into bed with a quiet ‘whoop’. He fell asleep almost immediately after, having only had time to discard his shirt and trousers beside his bed before soft snores filled the bedroom.

He slept like a baby that night.

***

The next morning turned out to be one of the rudest awakenings of his long life, having spent his later years at the school, and adolescent and young adult years living with Raven, he considered himself to have lots of experience with bad mornings.

A loud bang could be heard outside his door, accompanied someone shouting and his room suddenly turning icy cold. Charles shot upright in his bed, staring at his door with wild, disorientated eyes. _What the bloody hell’s that commotion?_ He thought, annoyed that his sleep had been disrupted.

Slipping out of bed, he reached for his old robe, red and tattered after decades of use. He really was long due a new one, but he couldn’t make himself throw it away. It had been a Christmas gift from Raven, just a year before it all went down in Cuba. The memories and the thin fabric did nothing to shield him from the chill that had so abruptly filled his room though, and he hurried over to the door to intercept whatever was happening outside.

“Children, will you please – “he halted as he opened the door, conscious of several pairs of eyes suddenly bearing down on him. Their minds were all jumbled together, making it hard to pick up on one specific thought.

_‘Who is he, seriously?’_

_‘... The professor’s room,’_

_‘Oh hello stranger,’_

Despite himself, Charles felt a blush coming on. He did not appreciate the way some of his students were practically ogling him. Crossing his arms over his torso to cover himself and as calmly as possible he said, “What’s going on here?”

The students looked hesitantly amongst themselves, and some of the younger ones shuffled their feet guiltily.

“Well, you see...” someone started, but quieted as soon as Charles’ attention turned to him. He was one of the fairly new students, Henry, who had a talent for blending in quite well with his surroundings by mirroring the objects around him. It’s was quite the remarkable talent.

“Yes?” he pressed carefully, knowing that the boy was not comfortable with the attention.

Henry opened his mouth again to speak, but a young woman named Fiona cut him off rudely, “You’re in the professor’s room. You’re not supposed to be there,” she said snottily.

Charles frowned, not quite sure how to respond. Had she always been this rude? He knew she had grown up into a wealthy family where she had been spoilt to bits before she came to the school, but she had always been perfectly polite to him in the past, if not slightly manipulative, but that was part of her mutation after all; getting what she wanted, when she wanted it.

“I was allocated here by the headmistress and professor Logan, because there were few rooms free at the moment,” It wasn’t a complete lie, and he knew for a fact that with the increasing student admission the school had recently, this room would soon had to be assigned to someone else who needed the space.

She glared at him, “So why weren’t you given Rogue’s old room, it’s not like that traitor needs it anymore,”

Rogue had left? Charles felt his heart sink, but he couldn’t let the sudden news affect him, “I don’t know, I suppose you should ask the headmistress,”

His tone was cold and dismissive, making Fiona glare even more forcefully and the small group of students whisper amongst themselves.

There was a sudden prodding in his mind, and it sounded like a bee buzzing around in there. His thoughts clouded over slightly and he recognised the intruding thoughts of another mutant. The more vindictive parts of him wanted to laugh at the girl before him trying to compel him to submit to her. The more reasonable, compassionate part felt a twinge of pity.

‘ _Fiona, I am not trying to nor do I want to humiliate you in front of your peers, and I would appreciate it if you returned the sentiment,’_ he projected to her, making her eyes widen comically.

“Are you – “

“Don’t you all have somewhere to be?”

Thank god for Hank’s impeccable timing; Charles wouldn’t know what to do if he had to keep the tirade up any longer. The students muttered something amongst themselves and quickly disbanded. Fiona shot him one last look of contempt before she left, making Charles worried that she might become a problem if not dealt with. He’d prefer to draw as little attention to himself while he’s like this and alienating that girl might cause issues in that regard.

“Making friends I see?” Hank said with a raised eyebrow in his direction, giving Charles’ robe a dubious look, but not commenting on the familiar garment.

Charles huffed, draping the robe even tighter around himself, “That seems to be the common response to myself these days. I don’t even know why, I never had these issues in the past.” Within a day he had already been hit, threatened and ogled by his students, his staff and friends, and Erik.

“Things are different from when we were young Charles; you know that just as well as I do. They’re living in a time where they have to live in fear and they are just acting out on that fear with hostility from time to time. You cannot blame them for it.”

“I am well aware Hank, but I hoped they never had to fear while they were in this school,”

Hank looked at Charles imploringly, “And they don’t. This place gives them hope,”

“Thank you, my friend,” Charles said, wanting to drop the sombre subject, “Now, may I ask why you’re here?”

“Oh, yes, of course! I thought we might do some tests today, to find out what’s happened, if that’s okay with you?”

Hank’s poor attempt at containing his excitement at the prospect of getting to do some science made Charles smile. He hadn’t seen his friend like this in many years, and he wondered if his current appearance had some sort of underlying psychological influence. “That sounds like a good idea. Do you want to start at once?”

Nodding his blue head, Hank gave Charles an once-over, before saying bemusedly, “You might want to change though; you’d want to look presentable in the presence of a lady, wouldn’t you?”

Charles raised a quizzical eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Moira is here.”


	6. When Charles met Moira

When Moira met Charles, she laughed.

After Hank had collected Charles from his bedroom, the two had made their way downstairs where the labs could be found. The hallways had been filled with youths and the two struggled to remain casual as they walked past student after student. Charles had for safe measure walked as close to Hank as humanly possible, hoping that the other man’s bulk would now hide his smaller frame. Though they had received some puzzled looks, and at one point someone had shouldered Charles by accident, the overall trip down had went surprisingly without hiccups.

So when the doors slid open to reveal the sleek, sterile equipment and the people within the lab, Charles was in a surprisingly good mood as he strode inside. When a loud manic laughter broke through the air though, he quickly deflated and retreated behind Hank’s blue body, out of sight from the two women.

“Oh my god,” Moira said between laughs, her old face wrinkling at the edges. “Charles, is that really you?”

Charles felt his face flush; feeling more self-conscious than ever as one of his previous love-interests laughed him in the face at his new appearance. _Or old appearance_ , he thought begrudgingly. He cleared his throat, “Yes, I’m afraid so. Though I do prefer this to being six feet under, if I’m honest,”

The atmosphere of the room seemed to tense, and after a few moments Storm, who had retreated to the back of the lab as the two men had entered earlier, spoke up, “Doctor MacTaggert, the Professor only arrived early yesterday morning as I told you previously. We are not sure about under what the circumstances, but we’d very much like your professional opinion about it,”

Moira’s gazed suddenly turned wary as she closed the gap between herself and Charles with a few steps. Hank stepped aside, exposing Charles’ young exterior to the former CIA agent, and Charles looked at him sourly; _traitor._ Her eyes met his full on and Charles suddenly felt very small. “But how can I trust that you are who you say you are?”

It was sometimes easy to forget that she had been a government agent before a scientist. After they had left Cuba and Charles had erased her memories, she had been demoted from her position. A few years later the two had ran into each other by chance just in the street, and Moira had recognised the telepath almost immediately, and started shouting at him about abusing power and ‘what the fuck had he done to her?’. Eventually, after she had calmed down and Charles had apologies profusely, he heard what had happened to her and offered her to get in touch with one of his former classmates from Oxford who excelled in biogenetics as well. She had taken the offer instantly, and after a few years of education, she was one of the leading geneticists in America. She was so good at what she was currently doing that Charles forgot that she excelled in espionage and interrogation as well.

“Well,” he started, leaning a bit back from her imploring eyes, “that depends. I suppose you really can’t... though I doubt that anyone ever thought your MCR1 gene was as groovy as I did,” Charles grinned and somewhere to his right he heard Hank face palm himself, accompanied by the thought, ‘ _Oh for the love of – ‘_ , and Ororo’s mind was a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Moira blinked, her expression one of utter bewilderment and surprise. Charles would have laughed if she hadn’t suddenly grabbed hold of his face, her grip iron-tight, as she inspected every feature, every freckle, on his now youthful face.

“Oh my god,” She whispered, sounding tearful, “it **is** you.”

“I hope you’re not too disappointed,” he joked, as she wrapped him up in her arms. He had forgotten that Moira gave really good hugs.

‘ _It’s really good to see you, Charles.’_

_‘You too, Moira.’_

_***_

Charles was restless, which was weird because he hadn’t been restless in years.

He was sitting shirtless on a stool in the clean lab with Moira and Hank running back and forth around him, their lab coats flapping behind them as they bustle about. They had been at it for hours now, taking test after test. Charles thought that he might not have much blood left in his arms for them to take, and briefly wondered how long it would take to actually drain someone of blood.

Shaking the disturbing thought away, he glanced at Hank who was hunched over a monitor displaying functional imaging scans. Charles had always found neuroimaging fascinating, but didn’t like his brain being so thoroughly examined by someone else. It might be a bit hypocritical of him all things considered, but he couldn’t shrug the feeling of being intruded upon.

Moira came over to him again, a tired smile on her face, “How are you holding up?” she said as she re-applied the band aids where the blood samples had been taken.

Charles shrugged in response, a small smile grazing his lips, “Yeah, I’m alright. Just a bit... jittery, that’s all,”

She chuckled, “I can only imagine. Judging from your samples you’re testosterone levels are about twice of that of your actual age. Right now you’re at the peak of it, if you are like most males who have their... prowess about mid-to-late twenties.”

Absorbing the information, Charles nodded thoughtfully, “That would explain a few things...” he muttered, thinking back to the shower he had yesterday, his general restlessness and his shorter temper.

As if she was the telepath, Moira raised an eyebrow and looked at him with a smirk, “I don’t suppose you’ve discovered any... side-effect to this increase in hormones, have you?”

Feeling himself blush for the second time that day, he looked away, forcing himself to stare at the tank of hydrofluoric acid Hank had installed in the corner. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent MacTaggert,” he said.

“Sure you don’t,” she teased, but let the matters go anyway.

They worked quietly for a while before Hank joined them in the middle of the room. Sensing the other man’s hesitancy immediately, Charles focused his attention on his friend as he approached with caution.

“Everything alright my friend?”

Hank took a breath, “Professor... Charles. I need to take a look at your back,”

It was if the blue mutant was all giddy and young again too as he said it, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Having lived together for ten years just the two of them, they had developed a strict sense of communication based on what they did and did not talk about, especially in front of others. Charles’ injury had been one of the don’ts, despite – no, because, Hank had been one of the few people who had helped him treat it and seen Charles at his worst because of it.

Charles tensed, not really comfortable with the request. But knowing that the other man would never had brought it up if he didn’t find it absolutely necessary, he complied with a nod and turned on his stool so Hank could have a look.

Hank’s hands were warm on his skin as they touched just below where the bullet had pierced his spine, and Charles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at the contact. It was a strange combination of feelings, having not really felt either sensation in years after losing both his legs and his hair, and it made him shudder.

The hands withdrew almost immediately.

“I’m fine,” Charles hurried out before Hank or Moira had a chance to question him whether he was okay. Their thoughts were doubtful however, nagging in the back of his mind. “Really, I’m okay. Keep going, Hank.”

The rest of the examination was quick and clinical, if not a bit frustrating for Charles who had mixed feelings about the whole ordeal. As much as it was amazing to feel just skin on skin contact on his lower back, it triggered unwanted reactions he did not want his two old friends to see, and left him frustrated and embarrassed as he hunched over himself until Hank announced that he was done.

“I don’t think there’s much more we can do for today. Hopefully we’ll be able to find some explanation as to why you’re suddenly twenty-something old and what side-effects this has caused, but until then I think it is best you just keep the pretences up.”

Charles shrugged one of the t-shirts Ororo had left in his room earlier back on. “How long do you assume it will take before you have the results?”

The two scientists shared a look before Moira spoke, “We’re not really sure. I will focus all my attention on this of course, but it depends on so many different variables that we can’t be sure. I will keep in touch though.”

Satisfied, Charles nodded. “Of course, thank you. Both of you.” He said, and offered a tired smile. “Now, if you excuse me I think I might go find myself a drink.”

Moira laughed, “Amen to that.”

                                                                      ***

It was getting late as Charles left Hank and Moira behind in the lab, feeling that he would be of little use to the scientists as he was now; restless, full of energy, and desperate for alcohol. Sometimes Charles wished that he had bought one of those globes concealed as a mini-bar to keep in his room or office. It would have been so much more convenient than having to sneak all the way across the mansion to the kitchen to get a glass of single malt. Also, going to the kitchen when it was close to dinner time when living in a house full of teenagers with something akin to superpowers had probably not been the best idea.

He was walking down the hallway, dodging the students as he walked; only bumping into a couple on his way. He wasn’t used to not having people part like the red sea as he approached. He had never regarded himself that highly that he thought that it was because he was Professor X that people got out of his path; it was simply a matter of him being stuck in that fucking chair. If Moira and Hank were to reverse this he’d ask them if it was possible to keep his spine whole, fixed and fully functional, please.

Finally approaching the foyer leading to the kitchen, he briefly considered extending an invitation to Logan to join him. He quickly dismissed the idea however, not really feeling the need for more human contact than necessary right now. He had been poked and prodded and examined, and he very much would like a drink and some peace, curled up in his favourite chair with _The Once and Future King._

When he approached the entrance to the big manor kitchen his daydreaming was interrupted as he heard someone shouting inside, their voice filled with fear. Charles didn’t even halt but picked up his pace, worried what might have befallen his students.

Placing his fingers at his temple as he tried to get a read on the situation while he ran, he didn’t notice the door next to him being flung open before it hit him square in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the lovely feedback on this! Next chapter should be up soon!


	7. Realisations

Erik was pacing back and forth in his small apartment, a phone pressed firmly to one ear as he listened to its’ monotone rings.

No answer.

He had been trying to contact some of his former associates in the brotherhood to do some recon on this young version of late Charles Xavier, but so far he had turned up empty-handed and none of his fellow-mutants were answering his calls. Erik blamed caller-ID. If this had been the sixties they wouldn’t have suspected a thing.

The issue was that he had no other way of getting hold of his former brotherhood after he had lost his power and the brotherhood itself had been disbanded. They did not fear nor did they respect him anymore, and therefore had gone in their own directions with no intention of ever giving him a second glance. He had always known that it was not so much respect that had made them follow him as fear of what he and his cause could and would do, but it wasn’t until recently that he had realised it was only that sliver of remaining fear and respect that had kept him alive when they left him and the brotherhood behind.

Erik put the phone down with a sigh and gingerly sat back on the ratty couch which he had fitted into the room serving as his living and dining room. He contemplated on why he even cared that this fake version of Charles was running around causing havoc and leaving people baffled and upset in his wake. It was none of his concern certainly, and so far attempting to even get a bit of information on him proved to be far more effort than it probably was worth. Erik would have done it himself if he hadn’t recently felt so... old. If he was honest with himself, he would admit he was tired and felt all of his years filled with war and refuge grating on his bones. Sometimes it was even an effort going to the park to enjoy a bit of sun and watching the chessboard remain firmly untouched. Even the thought made his muscles ache, and he massaged some of the knotted tendons in his thigh.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that the imposter had been happily walking about as well, even if he had made the occasional impression of Bambi on ice; his Charles had not walked for nearly 50 years, so the fact only served to make Erik even more suspicious.

Erik hummed to himself; it was strange that the imposter had made such an obvious error though, considering that he otherwise had been very convincing. Maybe there was a purpose behind it though; maybe it was to show Charles before Erik had broken him, before he had lost his only family and the use of his legs. Erik couldn’t quash the surge of guilt even if he tried and he dragged a tired hand through his gray hairs.

Not that it mattered why he was here; what was important was he had effectively disrupted Erik’s hard-earned indifference to his current existence. He refused to let this abomination ruin that; ruin his acceptance that he wouldn’t and couldn’t see his friend again until the afterlife – if there was one. He had seen Charles been blown to bits that day by Phoenix, and Erik intended to honour his memory and do the same to the imposter – no matter his intentions.

***

It turned out the commotion in the kitchen had been caused by two young boys trying to impress their peers by showing off their powers.

Charles, fully aware of what the two were capable of, was surprised that no one had sustained any serious injuries. Jenny Wilkies was currently sporting singed hair and the fridge needed to be replaced, but beyond that and Charles’ bleeding nose and bruised ego everyone was as healthy as ever.

The two boys were currently being scolded in the kitchen by Ororo; Charles could hear their distressed thoughts all the way from his bathroom at the other end of the mansion. Tilting his head back a bit more, he rubbed his nose with a paper towel in attempt to stop the bleeding. If he didn't know he was prone to nosebleeds he'd be concerned with the amount of red liquid running out and down his face.

Charles felt annoyance churn in his stomach as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. After having woken up in his twenties - completely nude he might add - he had been beaten, threatened, laughed at, treated like a child, and now been abused by a door. He'd never thought he would wish old age and baldness upon himself, but right now it seemed preferable to what he had experienced since he had woken. He couldn't remember youth being so stressful first time around.

Warm fluid trickled down his fingers and chin, and Charles realised he'd been so lost in his thoughts that there were barely anything left of the towel stuffed up his nostrils.

"Bollocks," he muttered, chucking the bunched up paper in the bin underneath the sink. It was already half full.

"Still bleeding, Chuck?" Logan strolled in without knocking, carrying a plastic bag.

He barely raised an eyebrow as Charles glared at him, or as much as the telepath managed to glare with two pieces of paper showed up his nose.

Logan snorted a laugh, "You look like you've been on the frontlines of a war," he said and indicated to Charles' shirt when the other gave him a confused look.

"Oh," Charles had failed to notice the state of his attire, but seeing it now he realised it was ruined beyond salvation. The shirt - the one Storm had gotten him and that Charles refused to consider part of his own wardrobe - was stained with dark red and was sticking to his chest. His face scrunched up in disgust and without a word peeled it of himself, grimacing as dried blood seemed to crack and stick to his stomach. He threw the shirt in the bin with the rest of the paper and realised that he'd have to dispose of that properly less he’d be accused of murdering himself. Considering his past few days he wouldn't be horribly surprised.

"Anyway, Storm asked me to bring you these, and 'requested' that you come see her as soon as you were fit to do so," Logan said, throwing the bag at Charles, who looked at him with amusement.

"Not like you to do as you're told." It wasn't an insult, just an observation, but Charles watched as the other man frowned.

"Yeah," his voice was gruff, "after you and Jean and Scott passed... Things were kind of rough and someone needed to step up; Storm did, but she needed all the help she could get." Logan looked up, all traces of amusement gone. "You left big shoes to fill, Professor."

Charles could feel the man's inner turmoil like ants underneath his own skin and he quickly shut the man's mind out, not bearing to listen to whatever he'd left behind.

He clutched the bag to his chest, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself enough to shut the noises of minds around him out of his own. Like before, it seemed more of an effort to maintain control of his abilities. It was disorienting and required a focus Charles hadn't practised since his actual twenties.

“Professor,"

Shaking himself, Charles flashed a disarming smile in Logan's direction, "Yes, of course. Right." He took another breath, "Logan, before I... passed away," the words were like a foul taste on his tongue, "Before we went to face Jean... I didn't expect to come back from it, or rather-"

"Chuck, please stop," Logan cut him off, his gaze felt like cold steel as they landed on Charles, who suddenly felt the downside of being a youth in the presence of an authoritative and intimidating elderly. If the situation had been more appropriate, he might have laughed at the thought of referring to Wolverine as an 'elderly', even if the sentiment would not be appreciated by the other man.

Logan's eyes softened - if the man was even capable of such - and continued, "Whatever you think we need to hear, just... Don't. Everyone who knows you're back are just happy that you are breathing again, even if the circumstances are a bit... Unusual." His demeanour turned gruff again as he struggled for words and the thought _not good at this shit_ kept repeating in the man's head. "What I'm trying to say is: we got it,"

Charles stared, not knowing what to say. He was baffled by this open vulnerability and honesty coming from Logan, whom he knew only had showed this side of himself to a handful of people, and that handful tended to be female love interests or children - It wasn't like Charles didn't know the other man to be capable of affection, he had just never assumed himself to be on the receiving end of it.

"Thank you, Logan. I needed to hear that," he said, clearing his throat.

"Don't mention it, Chuck. Just focus on... Whatever you’re doing,"

"Right. But - "

"Seriously, don't mention it."

Without another word Logan left the room, leaving Charles alone and pondering on what just happened.

***

Later that night Charles found himself strolling the grounds with no other intents or purposes than simply getting away from all the loud, jumbled thoughts of teenagers and children alike. Earlier he had overheard a group of girls discussing some very disturbing topics concerning himself - a conversation he quickly and maybe a bit viciously tuned out of. The girls might have suffered some headaches, but he hadn't felt like checking up on them after one of them had imagined a particularly filthy scenario involving him and some leather straps.

It was getting dark and the grassy fields were abandoned by students and teachers. It was a refreshing change from the inside of the manor and Charles drew a deep breath of relief, feeling like he could finally think clearly again now that he wasn't being swamped by too many minds.

For what felt like the hundred time in the last two days, his mind turned to his current situation and he realised that he was more uncertain of it than ever. After his talk with Logan earlier and after Erik’s rejection the day before, Charles suddenly felt unsure that returning as Professor and Headmaster of the school was the right course of action. It had seemed like the obvious thing to do at first; helping the children and continue fighting for mutants’ rights. But since he’d woken he had realised that he wasn’t really... needed. Everyone was getting on fine without him; struggling and grieving from time to time, but Hank, Moira, Logan, Ororo, the children... they were all dealing with it and moving on, and what kind of right did he have to just waltz into their lives again?

Charles huffed in frustration and for once found himself wishing that there was someone who’d tell him what to do than the other way around. He found himself wishing for Raven’s supportive demeanour and Erik’s brutal honesty... But they wouldn’t even look at him now. He had already had to deal with Erik’s rejection; he didn’t think he could deal with Raven’s too, even if she hadn’t been accepting of him since they parted on the beach in Cuba all those years ago.

Charles suddenly realised that he had never been more alone in his life.


	8. Lay Bare

The air was humid and stuffy, and from dark skies fell a light drizzle. All the children were attending classes inside, leaving the fields surrounding the manor completely abandoned, with the exception of one Charles Xavier.

He had been wandering about the grounds for what felt like hours, opting for going bare footed so he could relish in the feel of damp grass beneath his feet. Enjoying walking and using his legs had been his favourite pastime in the week since he was mysteriously resurrected, seeing as he had nothing better to do.

After his talk with Logan on the second night, he had decided that he would not let this bring him down. He had wallowed in self-pity enough, and decided to try to make himself useful, even if that meant having to pretend to be okay with his current situation.

First, he had turned to Hank and Moira; hoping that contributing there would not only take his mind off of things, but also speed up the process of unveiling whatever mystery was happening to him. When he had mentioned the idea to them on the third day though, the two scientists had only shared a look before Moira had ushered him out, telling him that he had better things to do than hang out with two old people. She even forgot to remove the electrodes still attached to his hand and wrist.

Miffed, but not to be deterred, Charles had gone to Storm to ask if there was anything at all he could help with; he had been running this school since the very beginning after all. Her reaction had been much the same, but luckily she had not thrown him out of her office as she turned his offered help down. She had merely smiled disarmingly, saying, “I do appreciate the offer, Professor, but I think it would be best for you stay low, and keep distance from the children for now.”

Their rejection not only hurt, but infuriated him to no end.

And so Charles could be found wandering the grassy fields while trying to calm his turbulent mind. No one really disturbed him on his walks unless he went missing past dark, in which Ororo would usually send Logan in search for him.

It grated on Charles, because he felt like he was not wanted around the manor anymore, but at the same time was not allowed to leave or lead some semblance of independent life. He was only growing restless and frustrated with every day that passed, and this unnecessary supervision was only making it more difficult.

He was probably being unfair. Everyone, including himself, was only trying to adjust to the situation as well as they possibly could, and him acting like a spoiled brat probably did not help. Patience was key, but he found it hard to find it within himself these days.

Sighing, Charles dragged a hand through his hair. It would be easier if he just left; it might cause some hurt for a while, but at least that would not last forever. He wouldn’t have to listen to Moira’s ever-growing concern as they could not help him, nor did he have to see Ororo’s eyes fill with sorrow every time she laid eyes on him. Maybe he should have just remained dead.

Something jerked in his chest, as if in violent protest. It hurt, and he let out a disgruntled noise as he doubled over. It seemed to course through him like flames, and he gasped for air. The pain diminished quickly however, and within a few seconds it was gone completely.

“What the...” He muttered between panting breaths, still bent over and resting at his knees in the wet grass. His trousers were getting soaked, but he did not notice as he checked himself over for any visible damage. He did not know whether he should be concerned that he did not find anything or not.

As he was sitting there, trying to get his breath back, he started to feel the cold splashes of water hitting his neck and back, and he realised that the weather was about to take a turn for the worse. Even though he did enjoy the occasional rainy day – having lived in Britain had made that unavoidable; he did not appreciate getting soaked to the very bone. He had his fair amount of flu, colds and fevers in his life, and he’d rather avoid another one.

Standing up on shaky legs, he slowly started to make his way back to the manor. Whatever the pain was had really drained him, and for the first time since he was back, he finally felt like the old man he actually was.

***

“Listen here, I don’t think you understand what I am telling you. Do I have to spell it out to get it through your thick skull? Charles Xavier is back. Or some fake of him at least... No, you might not care either way, but I do!” Erik tapped his fingers to the tabletop in irritation as he listened to the man on the phone pressed to his ear. “This is your chance to get back at him... Don’t see it as a favour to me, see it as a favour to yourself. I’ve understood that you two did not exactly get along in the past... Yes... No, I don’t care what you do with him, just get rid of him. Kill him for all I care! ... A month? Where the hell are you?... Fine! I will take care of him myself, you useless fool!” Erik slammed the receiver down, cutting of the man at the other end.

He had been at it for a week now; trying to get hold of old associates to do some recon on this young Charles Xavier. So far he had come up empty-handed. Of the few contacts he had left, most of them refused to answer his calls, or if they did, they were simply too stupid to realise what he was telling them.

Some days he had even gone back to the park in hopes to run in to this younger version of Charles, but it had been fruitless and he had returned back to his cramped flat more frustrated than ever. He was starting to realise if he wanted to get anything done, he would have to take action himself. Though he was powerless, he was sure that he could at least learn something from the imposter by observing and interacting with him; it did not matter how much it hurt Erik to be around Charles, as long as the end-result hurt the imposter more.

He started planning immediately.

***

By the time Charles had made it back to the manor his clothes were dripping, and he felt like he might faint from exhaustion. Whatever had come over him earlier had dissapeared, but left a heavy weight in his chest and made his mind foggy. It was disorienting, and Charles wanted nothing more than curl up in his double bed and hide from the world in its’ warm comfort.

All students were still attending classes, and the hallways were thankfully empty as he walked through the manor and up the staircase to his floor. It seemed like he would make the climb without any interruptions, for which he was grateful because he was did not think he could handle having to deal with any encounters right now.

Faith, however, seemed to disagree.

“Hey, you!”

Charles halted halfway up the staircase, silently groaning to himself as he recognised the high-pitched voice. Taking a deep breath to mentally compose himself, he turned around, facing Fiona who was standing at the bottom of the stairs with annoyance written all over her face.

“I need to talk to you,” She said, stomping up the wooden panels.

Tapping into the last drop of his patience, he gave her a disarming smile and tried to get a read on her mind as he said, “Anything I can help you with, Ms. Percy?”

Her thought were a mix of turbulent emotions, and Charles was surprised he had never noticed how troubled this girl’s mind had been before now. He had always considered himself perspective of others, but he had begun to discover more and more over the course of the last week that he had been a deluded old fool; too wrapped up in his own cause and mutant’s rights to really take care of his children. Hank might be right; they might be safe in the manor, but it did not erase years of internalised stigma and ruined self-worth.

“Yes. I want to know what you are doing here.” She said, her eyes boring in to him.

Having been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he was a bit startled by the question, “What do you mean?”

He frowned as he felt her mind brush against his, trying to force answers out of him. She was not a telepath and he was not entirely sure how her mutation worked, but she seemed to compel people by tapping into their motor skills and memories, meaning that she would be able to familiarise herself with minds around her. Hopefully she was not recognising his.

“I mean what I said. What are you doing here? Who are you?”

She was increasing the pressure on his mind, and he could easily dismiss her if he wanted to, but there was something within himself which wanted her to get access to him, and he could feel his own resolve diminish second by second. He was exhausted, and he had to get out of there before his now limited defences were broken.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” He said dismissively, and turned his back on her to walk up the stairs.

Not used to being shut down, her mind turned furious, “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” She screamed, and her powers cranked itself up to full force and Charles felt something within his mind shatter.

For the first time in forever, Charles had no telepathic defences and he felt vulnerable beyond measure. It terrified him more than anything.

“Oh my god,” He heard a pathetic whimper behind him, and he realised that his secret were out. Something within him screamed in protest, and his fear turned to anger. Slowly, he turned back around to face the girl standing with him in the staircase.

Fiona had gone deathly pale, and was staring at him with tearful eyes, “Professor... What happened to you? How...?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Fiona, that’s enough.” He said, his voice calm.

She took another step up the staircase, carefully approaching him, “I don’t understand... You are dead. I don’t – Who are you?” Her face was covered in tears now.

His mind clouded over in fury for a brief second, and something within his chest twitched violently, “Enough!”

The whole manor shook as his voice echoed through it, and the students’ minds turned distressed as the ground jerked violently beneath them.

Charles paid it no heed though as he watched Fiona’s eyes turned wide and cloudy and her mind grow quiet. Her body crumbled upon itself, and before he knew what was happening, he had jumped down the stairs to catch her limp form before it tumbled down the hard wood.

People were rushing out of classrooms and around him in panic, but Charles could only watch the girl in his arms as her mind seemed to dissolve and crumble. He didn’t know what he had done, this had never happened to him before, and he could only look as Fiona’s thought grew quiet in his arms.

“Nononono,” he repeated to himself, his anger completely gone. “Fiona. Fiona!”

Students had gathered around them, and only stared at the two of them horrified.

“Let me through!”

Only when he felt the presence of the familiar mind did Charles look up. “Hank,” he said, feeling his whole body shake in terror, “I don’t know what happened,”

He heard his own voice, and it sounded far too young and far too terrified.

“Charles, what did you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while, and I'm sorry. (Also, this was typed very quickly, so I'll read through it again soon for spell-checking.)


	9. Small comforts

“Is she going to be okay?”

“We cannot tell anything for sure. She is currently in a very deep coma, and so far we don’t know what caused it. The only person who could possibly help her would be the Professor, but I don’t think asking that of him right now would be wise.”

“... And how is he?”

There was a brief pause of hesitation, and Charles tuned out of Ororo and Moira’s conversation, not wanting to hear them discuss him at the other end of the manor.

He was sitting curled up on his bed, his knees tightly hugged to his chest. They had escorted him there, while Fiona had been carried by Logan to the infirmary after Hank had found him earlier. He had yet to move from his position, water dripping everywhere and soaking through the mattress beneath him. It was freezing cold and he was shivering, but he couldn’t make himself move to remove the wet clothing. It was like he was in a panic-induced trance; he didn’t dare move in fear that he might lose control, but he didn’t think he could even if he wanted to.

He felt numb all over, except in his chest, where a heavy weight seemed to have settled. It was suffocating and horrifying, and it felt like it was alive beneath his skin, stretching and expanding through his body. Whatever had happened earlier seemed to have enforced the feeling and Charles was terrified of the implications of it. It was wreaking havoc on his control, and it took everything within his self-control to block out the thoughts of the people around him.

“Professor,”

Charles shivered, drawing his knees closer to himself as he tried to regain control of his powers, despite the freezing cold and too many minds.

“Charles,”

His eyes were squinted shut, and he grabbed hold of his hair in tight fists as his breathing came out in ragged breaths. Control, he had to be in control.

“Charles, can you hear me?” A big, blue hand gently touched his knee, snapping him out of the stupor that had shielded him from reality. It seemed to hit him like a truck, and he took a deep breath as his mental shields seemed to tremble and stutter from many loud voices around him.

“Professor...” Hank’s voice and touch were gentle and soothing against his disoriented thoughts, and Charles knew he was being treated like a wounded animal.

“I’m fine,” he gasped, grabbing hold of Hank’s hand to anchor himself, “I’m fine.”

Hank’s kind eyes were imploring and doubting. Charles knew the other man did not believe him, and Hank knew that Charles knew.

They stared each other down; one in attempt to convince the other that he could handle himself, and the other in attempt to convince the other man it was okay to be scared.

Eventually, it was Hank who looked away.

“Listen, Charles, I think –“ The scientist stopped in his tracks as if noticing the state of Charles; soaking wet, shivering, and with big bruises of exhaustion underneath his eyes. He stoop from his perch beside the bed and walked into the ensuite, out of sight.

Charles craned his neck to see what the other man was doing, but he could not hear a single sound from the bathroom.

From around the corner, Hank reappeared carrying a big, fluffy towel. “Remove your clothes,” he says sternly, in a voice Charles had only heard him use a few times in his life.

“What?”

“Charles, you are dripping everywhere. You need to get changed so you don’t get sick,”

As if prompted, Charles could feel his nose started to run, and he sniffed. It always annoyed him when other people knew better about his welfare than himself. It made him feel... a loss of control, and like he was being treated like a child. Irony seemed to be kicking him in the arse recently.

Hank gave him a look, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking, “Professor,” he said respectfully, “I’m not here to baby you, but I would appreciated you listened to me. For once,” The last two words weren’t defiant, but ignited a spark in Hank’s eyes as if he was reminiscing about the times when it was just the two of them in the mansion and quarrelled like disobedient teenagers. At that time it all had seemed so dark and horrible, but looking back on it the two of them had a lot of good times together as well.

Smiling slightly despite himself as Hank projected some of the images at him, Charles removed his clothing without another word, throwing the offensive garments at the floor next to the bed.

Hank handed him the bath towel and turned to leave without another word, knowing that Charles usually liked his privacy as he mulled things over.

“Wait,” Charles said, surprising himself as Hank stopped halfway through the door. The telepath sensed the man’s hesitation, and became unsure of himself as the blue mutant turned without a word to look at him.

“Could you stay? Please,” The words were barely above a whisper, and Charles realised with a pang that over the course of the week he had been back he had isolated himself to the extent of social depravation. Every part of his self-preservation and dignity screamed in protest as the next words slipped out of his mouth, “I don’t want to be left alone.”

What a sight he must have been; a young man sitting there in a towel, with his knees drawn protectively to his chest. His hair was a messy wet mop on top of his head, and every strand shook as another cold shiver ran through him. Charles had not felt this exposed and vulnerable since his accident back in ’62.

Hank’s eyes softened, “Okay,” he said quietly; as if he too had reverted back to the young man he once had been back when they first met. “Scoot over,” he instructed, and gingerly sat down next to Charles on top of the bed.

“Thank you,” Charles whispered, as he pressed his face into the blue fur covering his long-time friend. He had always found comfort in the other man’s presence; his mind might not be as soothing as Erik’s, but it was familiar and had supported him through his years of depression and anguish.

Hank draped an arm around the young man curled up next to him, “You are welcome,”

It was the last thing Charles heard before exhaustion got the better of him and engulfed him in deep sleep.

***

He was back in the Grey’s residence, only this time it was fully intact and every piece restored to its natural place. It had always been a nice home, Charles had thought in the past, full of love and only a tiny hint of fear. Even though the fear was understandable, when considering what kind of power the daughter of the house possessed, even if the Mr. and Mrs. Grey weren’t aware of the extent of their child’s power. He had always pegged down such fears to the evolutionary instinct for survival; it was deeply intertwined with the human’s genes to prevail and reproduce as a species, and mutants threatened that because they were the next step in evolution. The Gray family’s fear though, was not that; they had won the genetic lottery, but were worried about what that meant for their daughter’s future. A life of segregation and exclusion until the mutants finally took over the world... Probably would not happen in her lifetime. And so they worried, and though it was not for the right reasons, they were wise to do so.

The love and care with only that hint of fear had completely vanished from the empty house as Charles stood there thinking, feeling every fibre of his being rock and shatter within himself. It was painful, and he wanted to scream, but he remained quiet as every piece of him dissolved bit by bit, only to reappear the next second and replace itself.

Suddenly the house shook violently, dislodging itself from its hinges grounding it to the earth. He squinted his eyes shut, overcome by the pure pain and horror of having to relive his death again. It was all too much.

“You did this,” A hoarse voice said beneath him, and he snapped his eyes back open in shock as he recognised it.

Jean, her eyes black and furious, stared up at him, debris flying all around her. “You did this,” she repeated again.

Charles wanted desperately to say something to her, to help her overcome Dark Phoenix, but he couldn’t. He was mute as he was slowly picked apart piece by piece by her raw power. He could only look.

It was as if something within his core clicked into place, and suddenly Jean screamed and flew towards him. She crashed into him, and it felt like a thousand hot knives were cutting into him, and he couldn’t breathe, and oh god he was going to die –

He shot abruptly up into a sitting position on his bed. His heart was racing and he gulped down shallow breaths, trying to calm his erratic mind. The heavy weight in his chest had dissipated, leaving only hollow, burning hot pain.

 _Just a dream_ , he told himself over and over, _it’s just a dream for fuck’s sake_. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, and he rubbed the heels of his hands against them, hoping to get rid of the drops without furthering embarrassing himself.

Finally, after having settled enough, he looked around; it was dark outside, and Hank was snoozing peacefully beside him. It was a miracle the other man hadn’t woken up, but then again he supposed Hank had always been a heavy sleeper, even when they had been on the brink of war.

Slipping out of the bed carefully not to wake the scientist up, Charles wrapped the towel Hank had brought him earlier more tightly around himself. He suppressed a shiver and the need to take a long, warm shower and just hide in Hanks blue fluff forever, as he hobbled over to his dresser. The clothes Storm had given him were all dirty and wet, and didn’t particularly appeal to him at the moment. He wanted his old cardigans and tweed; the wool would keep him warm, but most importantly, make him feel like himself again. He needed to feel like himself.

Having changed into some old clothes that were buried at the bottom of his wardrobe, Charles snuck out into the hallways. He didn’t know what time it was, only knew that everyone within the mansion was in various degrees of sleep which would make moving around undetected a lot easier.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the medical wing which was abandoned with the exception of one small body lying atop one of the beds in the far corner. Fiona was almost as pale as the duvet and sheets they had her tightly wrapped up in, her freckles and dark hair standing in stark contrast to the white colours surrounding her.

Charles gingerly sat down in the chair next to her bedside, fearing that if he moved to quickly his control would slip again, and he’d end up doing something far worse than what he already done.

Jean’s words echoed in his head, ‘ _You did this’_.

Only the gentle beeping from Fiona’s heart monitor could be heard in the room, and it unsettled Charles as he realised that there was no other sounds coming from the girl in front of him.

Leaning forward slightly, he reached his hand out to gently lay it on her forehead. Closing his eyes in concentration, he was about to enter her mind as there was a loud noise coming from the foyer, making him snap upright in surprise and breaking the mental link between him and Fiona.

The commotion had awoken several of the other residents within the manor, and their thoughts were clouded with panic and fear.

He felt his anger spark to life and churn within him, and he whispered an apology to the girl lying in front of him, before he got to his feet and ran.


	10. Said and Done

“What the fuck do you think you are doing here?” Charles heard Logan growl before he reached the main-entrance.

The rain was still pouring down outside, and Charles could hear it hammering against the mansion’s many windows as he quickened his pace, worried that the two men would kill each other before he got there.

He recognised all of the minds present; Logan, Ororo and Hank, and also the familiar blankness that he had long ago started recognising as Erik with his Russian manufactured helmet. The blankness that came along with it always made his mind itch and Charles mouth twisted bitterly as he realised that, once again, he would be defenceless against Erik and his powers.

Finally, he turned the corner, only to see that Logan had the leader of the Brotherhood by the throat, lifted partly into the air.

“Logan,” Charles said calmly, “Please, let him down.”

Wolverine glances over his shoulder and growled, but dropped the older man down gracelessly, leaving him in a crumbled pile on the ground.

Stepping over, Charles looked down at the older man with his arms crossed and a defiant stance, “What do you want, Erik?” his tone was cold, surprising even Charles, but he wouldn’t let it show on his face as Magneto looked up at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Charles,” he whispered, “I’ve come to... I need your help,”

Taken aback, but not letting it show on his face, Charles said, “And why should I help you? If I remember correctly, you have done nothing but to hinder and hurt my students and staff in the past,”

Erik looked at him quietly, his eyes filled with emotion Charles wasn’t able to decipher while the other man still had the helmet on.

“Take it off,” Charles instructed, meeting Erik’s glare, “I’m not letting you any further in to this school before you take that bloody thing off,”.

There was a tense moment, but eventually Erik got to his feet – still so much taller than Charles in his old age, and slowly removed the helmet, exposing the other man’s mind to the telepath. As much as he hated to admit it, the old, familiar mind was a soothing comfort.

“Don’t you dare try anything, Erik,” Charles threatened, despite desperately wanting to wrap himself up in the secure space that was Erik’s mind. His children’s welfare came first and foremost.

Magneto smirked a bit, and splayed his arm, “No helmet. I couldn’t disobey you even if I wanted,”

With a glare, Charles turned on his heel, striding past the other adults that had remained silent during their exchange, expecting Erik to follow him to his study.

Quietly, he heard in his mind, _‘Professor, are you going to be alright?’_

Hank’s concern leaked through every word, and Charles sent comforting thoughts back to him, _‘I’ll be alright. It’s just Erik. I know how to handle him,’_

It was as if the blue mutant nodded in his mind, _‘I trust your judgement. I don’t trust Erik however. Shout if you need anything.’_ And the link was cut short, and once again Charles’ mind was only filled with background noise of his students’ thoughts.

The two men walked in silence to Charles study, which had barely been touched since his arrival over a week ago. He hadn’t wanted to go back inside, feeling like the room was foreign and unwelcoming to him, but he felt it was the only place he would get some privacy from the rest of the population within the school.

Charles walked over to the window, looking out into the darkness covering the grounds while relishing in the comfortable silence between the two of them. Erik’s mind was always soothing and quiet, and though Charles knew that he probably should interrogate the man, he did not want to break whatever spell that surrounded them.

Erik seemed more than happy to, however.

“So,” he said, his voice trailing from the entrance of the room to the desk where Charles’ copy of the _Once and Future King_ lay, “Are you not going to ask me why I am here, Charles?” His voice was amused, though his mind was projecting worry and hesitance as he spoke.

Charles hummed, “I thought I’d give you the opportunity to explain yourself. You know forcing answers was never my method.”

“Ah, yes; Charles Xavier, always the saint.” Erik traced a finger over the worn cover, his voice filled with warmth despite the vindictiveness behind the words.

Turning around to face the older man, Charles’ face turned carefully blank, “I think we both know that is not true,” he frowned, “People change after all, do they not?”

Humming thoughtfully, Erik met Charles’ eyes, his eyes dark. “I suppose some, yes. Then again, you don’t seem to have changed a bit, have you Charles? You look exactly like how I remember you upon our first meeting.” He chuckled darkly, “though less wet, of course.”

Starting to get annoyed with the other man’s mysterious behaviour, Charles straightened with his hands in his pockets, faking causality, “What do you want from me, Erik?”

“I already told you,”

“You said you needed my help, but I don’t think I’m willing to give it before I know what kind of help you are asking for,”

Erik face turned wary, and suddenly Charles could see every line, every furrow, on the other man’s face; it was marked with age and exhaustion, and he realised how old Erik and himself had become in recent years. Where did time go?

“Charles,” he sounded hesitant, “I’m weak. I am powerless and weak, and I have nowhere else to go. The Brotherhood has been disbanded, and Mystique has been captured. I have no one left,” Erik seemed to draw a deep breath, “except for you,”

The tension in the room seemed to thicken dramatically, and Charles’ shoulders were tense as he stared Erik down. Erik didn’t seem to notice however as he gingerly picked up the worn book and leafed through it, faking casualness.

Charles furrowed his brows; what did the other man think he was accomplishing with this? He knew that Erik and him had always been... close, but there was something in the way the old mutant was acting that was making every muscle in Charles’ body tense and prepare for fight or flight.

“How can I trust you?” He said tersely, wanting to snatch the book from the other man who seemed entirely focused on its’ contents.

To Charles’ further annoyance, Erik had the audacity to laugh at him as he finally closed the old book, “You are the telepath, are you not?” he said, tapping his temple with two fingers.

“Are you giving me permission now?” Charles asked in disbelief. He hadn’t been allowed inside the other’s mind for decades, and the sudden invite was surprising and made him even more suspicious.

Erik shrugged, his eyes amused, “I think I am being pretty clear, am I not?”

If he was honest with himself, it was not that Charles wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to search the other man’s mind the instant Erik had taken that fucking helmet off, permission or not. It was rather that he didn’t trust himself to not make an utter mess of the man’s mind if he as much as breached his mental shields. His control was almost as poor as when his mutation first manifested, and it took all his focus just to maintain his own shields and not drowning in the many loud thoughts of the occupants of the rest of the school. Yet, he couldn’t risk Erik harming his students but leaving the other man to his own devices might prove just as dangerous. He had to take the chance.

Slowly walking up to Erik, he raised a hand questioningly towards the man’s temples. Erik only looked at him expectantly in return, patiently waiting for the intrusion of privacy.

Their eyes met briefly, and Charles felt his throat go dry. If the circumstances had been different, this moment right now would have been perfect. It was like old times, when the two of them had been at the same side and didn’t try to hide anything from each other. Charles had wished for this moment for nearly 40 years, and now that it was there, it wasn’t right. Everything was wrong and he wanted to shout at the unfairness of it all.

He didn’t let his turbulent emotion show on his face though, as he pressed his hand against Erik’s face, withered and wrinkled from age, yet as handsome as ever in Charles’ eyes.

As soon as his fingers touched Erik’s temples, the world exploded into a world of colour. It was bright and painful, and Charles watched in astonishment as scenario after scenario flashed before his eyes in too rapid speed for him to properly grasp anything of what was happening. It was all brief glimpses and thoughts, and was disorienting and made him feel sick. It was all too much, and he felt his legs give away underneath him as he let go of the other man’s thought and his vision darkened.

Erik was quick to grab hold of his elbow in an iron grip as he crumbled, and tried to compose himself. Charles felt imploring eyes burn into him, and as much he wanted to return the look, he didn’t seem to have enough energy to even lift his head.

They stayed like that for a while, Charles leaning heavily on Erik, who was staring at him quietly.

“What happened to you?” The former metal bender asked quietly, breaking the silence between them.

Charles took a deep breath, but instead of answering the question, he mustered the strength to meet the man’s eye, feeling every fibre within him vibrate with tension and power. “Are you here to kill me, Erik?”

Erik’s face showed no emotion, “I am,” he said simply.

“Do it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of the chapter and the reaaaally late update. I am really busy with a lot of schoolwork and currently don't have much time on my hands to write just for the fun of it. I will try to keep this updated on a more regular basis, but exams and that is coming up so can't promise that it will be frequent. I have the whole story plotted out though (well, mostly) :P


	11. Hold On ‘til the Sun Comes Up

Erik looked at the boy in front of him in utter shock. Of all the responses he had imagined he had never once expected that the imposter would simply give in. It was disturbing and unsettling, but also strangely familiar, like a memory long since past. It was intriguing.

“Care to tell me who you are first, boy?”

The imposter was resting on his knees in front of Erik, his naturally big eyes searching Erik’s face curiously and questioningly, as if baffled by the question.

“Well?” Erik asked, rising an eyebrow.

Big eyes widened in what seemed was realisation, before ducking his eyes, his shoulders shaking in silent, empty laughter.

Erik stared at the distressed boy in front of him in unconcealed shock.

“I thought that much was obvious – Unless your paranoia really has taken such a toll on your mental health that you can’t even recognise an old friend.” The Charles imposter said, his brief moment of faked amusement suddenly vanishing, being replaced by a familiar, lecturing tone. “Erik, I know what you are thinking, but it _is_ me.”

The last sentence was filled with such sadness that Erik felt his throat clench painfully at the obvious distress behind the words.

Charles – the boy kept talking, “If you are here to kill me, then do it, but I need you to believe me that I truly am Charles Xavier... I need you to believe me, Erik.”

“Why?” Erik asked, finding himself rooted to the ground as he watched the young boy kneeling in front of him shake.

“Because I’m not sure if even I believe that is who I am anymore,” the boy whispered, his face downcast and avoiding Erik’s gaze.

Erik had been prepared to use the measures necessary to kill the imposter, but now, looking at this broken boy before him, there was a sense of familiarity radiating from him that hadn’t been there before, prohibiting Erik from finishing him off. Back in the park he had been so utterly convinced someone was trying to take advantage of his current vulnerability and the recent death of his close friend, and his ever-present rage had reared at the very thought of it. But now, his rage had left him, only to be replaced by disturbed wonder, as the boy showed vulnerability that only the real Charles had, and only very few people knew the telepath to be capable of; himself, Hank and Mystique.

Still, he needed to be careful, “Charles,” he said, gaining the boy’s – no, man’s – attention. “How did this happen?”

Charles’ deep pools of blue widened again, but this time with neither despair nor shock, but with a glimpse of something akin to hope. “I...” He started, scrambling for words. “I don’t know, Erik. Everything is just a big mess, and I don’t know anything anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Erik asked suspiciously. Charles Xavier always knew what to do, even in the most dire situations when no one else did.

The telepath laughed that hollow, humourless laugh again, “I was dead, Erik. What do you think? I am not needed anymore. Everyone is getting along fine without me – actually, they are doing _better_ without me. Do you know what happened today? I completely lost control, and now one of the students are in the _fucking_ _hospital_ because of me!”

Once again the room fell silent as the now young man seemed to brake before Erik, who could only watch in shocked silence as Charles’ shoulders shook quietly.

Before he even knew that he was doing it, he knelt before the telepath and lifted his chin up with his hand, carefully studying the liquid blue eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Oh Charles,” he said, feeling his old, cold heart twist in sympathy.

“I am just so lost,” Charles whispered brokenly.

It pained him to see his old friend this way, “I have been such an old fool,” Erik said, drawing the boy before him close, burying his nose in his hair as Charles’ whole body trembled in his hold, but not pulling away.

They stayed like that for quite some time.

                                                                       ***

When Charles finally pulled away from Erik, the sun was breaching the horizon and streaming though the big windows of Charles’ study. His whole body felt hollow and tired, but also cleansed and the weight in his chest had eased considerably.

Charles couldn’t remember last time he had cried like that, if he ever had. After Cuba he had gone into a depressive state; not quite here nor there, and everything seemed empty and pointless, but he hadn’t cried. Not when the doctors told him that he would never walked again, not when Hank had told him that Raven wasn’t coming back, and not when Erik betrayed him time and time again.

He felt embarrassed that he had broken like that; not being able to keep his normal level of control and dignity, and especially in front of Erik – yet, he was also relieved in some way. This last week had been some of the most taxing days he had experienced in recent years, and it felt good to be able to confide in someone who understood and knew him as well as Erik.

Even though the now older mutant had come to kill him, he had been able to snap Charles out of it instead. He had surprised himself how easily he had accepted that he was going to die, and it scared him how quick he was to accept Erik as his executioner.

He hummed to himself thoughtfully, as he detangled himself from Erik who had his arms wrapped tightly around him. They seemed to have fallen asleep on the floor sometime during the night, and Charles winced as he thought of what that’d do to Erik’s joints.

Erik stirred as Charles finally managed to separate them, and his face displayed utter perplexity as he caught the sight of at what Charles knew looked like a young man next to him.

Despite their night, Charles couldn’t help but chuckle in earnest at the man’s confused expression, which was quick to turn to annoyance as he realised he was being laughed at.

“Charles, please don’t be so childish,” he said, as he staggered up on his legs with a groan.

Shrugging with a gentle smile, Charles jumped up too, but with far more ease than Erik, who was supporting himself on the desk.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked, concerned as he watched his old friend gingerly navigate over to the plush chair in the corner of the study. He would have liked to have helped, but knew that the metal bender was far too prideful to accept any sort of help when it came to his physical condition and age.

“I’m fine,” Erik said, his tone annoyed and tired as he carefully lowered himself onto the soft cushions of the chair. “Just not used to spending the night sleeping on the floor anymore, that’s all.” He chuckled darkly, “I guess I have become spoilt in my old age.”

“Trust me,” Charles huffed, “Youth is not exactly what it’s all cracked up to be either.”

That earned a laugh from Erik, and Charles couldn’t remember he had heard that last either. Erik rarely laughed, but when he did it was carefree and echoed through the room in a deep baritone. It always warmed Charles, and he couldn’t help but grin at his old friend.

“No, I suppose not.” Erik laughed, “All these children today with their goddamn hip-hop and hopeless attitudes. _Mein Gott,_ Charles, what happened to the world?”

“We became old, that’s what.” Charles said, his tone humorous, but his words serious. Erik smiled grimly in return, knowing all too well the truth behind those words.

The moment was broken as there was a knock at the door, and the two of them snapped their attention to the intruder, all traces of humour and melancholy gone.

Logan was standing in the doorway, carefully chewing on his cigar as observed the two men before him. His stare was oddly scrutinizing, and Charles could feel the man’s thoughts churning and wondering beneath the surface.

“Yes, Logan?” Charles inquires, perfectly posed despite the rumbled clothes and hair. He knew that Wolverine was checking up on them, having not heard from them in hours. Honestly, Charles was surprised that no one had checked up on them before now; probably Hank’s doing. Even though he didn’t trust Erik, he did trust Charles... despite recent events.

Grumbling beneath his breath, obviously not enjoying running errands, Logan looked between Erik and Charles, “Just thought I’d let you know that if you were interested, then breakfast is being served.”

It was a poor excuse, because Charles had not had breakfast with the rest of the school in his week back, but he appreciated Logan and the rest’s concern, so he nodded gratefully in return. “Thank you, Logan. Breakfast sounds delicious.”

”See you downstairs, Chuck.” Logan said nodding, departing with a threatening glare in Erik’s direction before shutting the door behind him.

Charles turned back to Erik, who was frowning in displeasure and confusion.

“What about it, Erik?”

“What about what?” Erik replied, having returned to his normal, annoyed demeanour.

“Fancy having breakfast with the X-men?” If Charles was honest with himself, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to face the student crowd by himself, and he found Erik’s presence strangely comforting and grounding. He felt like he was back in control of himself.

Erik’s scowl deepened if possible, “Dining with my enemies and a bunch of children? No thanks, I think I’ll pass.”

“Please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won't be a upload in a wee while, cause got an essay coming up, so I'm getting this up now so yous don't have to wait for too long until next time :)


	12. Tell me your Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews and you patience. I know I'm slow with uploading chapters on this fic, but I have been busy with stuff in my personal life lately, and that comes first (exams are quite important after all). I have holidays now though, so hopefully I will be able to upload a couple of chapters over the next few weeks at least :)   
> Again, thanks for your patience and your love - I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Erik glared at all the children sitting around the breakfast tables scattered around the dining hall. There were not as many of them as he had expected there to be in the massive school Charles was running, but the obnoxiously loud noise they were making made up for their lack in numbers. They were all quite well-behaved though, all of them sitting by their own table and no one were running about except a few of the younger children who were scrambling around the others with cutlery in their hands pretending to sword-fight. It reminded him why he had never cared to recruit children below the age of 15. At least they had some sense, mostly which could be invoked by fear and intimidation.

Charles hummed quietly next to him, though Erik suspected it wasn’t deliberate or conscious noise, because the boy – other man – was staring across the dining hall as well, but his eyes were distant and he was frowning as though his mind was elsewhere – which it probably was.

Scowl deepening, Erik wanted to reach over and snap the telepath out of whatever stupor he was in, but he knew that would be ill-advised. Not only because bringing a telepath out of whatever trance they were in could end badly for your sanity, but also because Erik was secretly worried about the other’s fragile state of mind. The night had taken its toll on both of them, and though Charles seemed happy enough this morning, Erik knew it was just a facade. Charles had always been good at that, hiding all his hurt and emotions behind a mask, not ever letting anyone see that he was just as vulnerable as the rest of them. Except once, and that time Charles had crashed and burned, and it had been all Erik’s fault.

The two of them were sitting at a small table tucked away in the corner, slightly hidden away from the prying eyes of the rest of the crowd in the big room. The children seemed overly cautious around them both, barely glancing over at them as they had their toast and fruit. It puzzled Erik because Charles had always had a soothing, calm presence on anyone, even Erik himself, so their apprehensive behaviour couldn’t be entirely related to him as Magneto, but something Charles did as well.

_The student_ , Erik’s memory supplied, remembering back to what the telepath had told him in his moment of vulnerability and distress. At the time, he had thought little of it; everything at that moment had revolved around Charles, and Charles alone. The honesty and distress had helped Erik realise how wrong he had been to assume anything about the young man next to him, but looking back at the conversation now also made him further question what was happening to his old friend and the gravity of the situation. They didn’t know what had happened – _how_ it had happened, and Erik realised that whatever was keeping Charles alive like this might not have good intentions in mind and could have some serious consequences for everyone involved.

“Erik?” Charles questioned quietly next to him, his hand clasping Erik’s forearm tightly. The warmth was seeping through the jacket he was wearing, and felt like it was branding his arm by the heat alone.

Catching Charles’ eyes, Erik saw the uncertainty there. He must have been projecting loud enough for the telepath to snap out of whatever stupor he had been in previously, and judging from the look he was getting his train of thought had unsettled Charles greatly.

Erik pried Charles iron grip off his harm, instead taking his hand in his own, “Charles, these are just concerns and speculations I have, it might not be the case at all. Whatever caused this could be some good Samaritan, or it could be entirely coincidental.”

_But what if it’s not,_ Charles thought was barely a whisper in Erik’s own head, and Erik wasn’t entirely certain if the telepath had intended for him to hear that. If Charles’ control was slipping that badly, they were all in trouble.

“I’ve been wrong before. So many times. I could very well be wrong about this too,” Erik said, knowing the words to be all too true. He would never have admitted these truths to anyone else but Charles though, knowing that his old friend wouldn’t judge him for his past mistakes and misgivings.

Squeezing his hand as if it was Erik who needed reassurances, the corners of Charles’ mouth quirked upwards slightly in a ghost of a smile, “My dear friend, we have both made our mistakes and been wrong in the past, but I’d like to believe we have learned from them and they have helped us grow. I also believe that you aren’t wrong and that your concerns are entirely justifiable and plausible. I believe this because –” Charles drew a deep breath, “because I have been having many of the same concerns this past week.”

Erik didn’t say anything, just looked at the other man who had let go of his hand and was now staring emptily out into the big room again where the children had started to gather up their dirty dishes.

“I don’t think they trust me. None of them do, not even Hank and Moira. They have been trying to find out what happened to me, but so far all their tests have turned up with nothing. Not a single abnormality in me.” He laughed humourlessly, “I’m a real boy.”

“You said they don’t need you anymore last night, never that they don’t trust you,” Erik briefly wondered why he was defending the other X-men who had made his life hell since Day One, but quickly decided that this wasn’t about their pure souls needing defending, but rather a matter of trying to help a man who seemed to be slipping down a dangerous and familiar path he had been once before. This was about Charles.

“I don’t blame them for it.” Charles replied, stirring around his now cold porridge. “They’ve been nicer than I could have ever expected considering the situation.”

“Yet you fear they will eventually throw you out,” And just like Erik, Charles would have nowhere to go.

Charles kept quiet.

“Is that why you wanted me to kill you?”

Erik instantly saw the moment where Charles shut down completely, and Erik knew he had overstepped and crushed the fragile state of trust and peace between the two of them.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Erik.” Charles said tensely, picking up his plate with unfinished, cold food. He refused to look at the older man as he got up to leave, “If you need anything you could probably ask Hank. You’ll most likely find him in the lab downstairs.”

And with that Charles walked away.

***

Not much later that day Erik found himself standing outside the doors to the lab. He had considered going after Charles, but knew that if Charles didn’t want to be found, it was unlikely he would reappear for at least a few hours. So instead Erik had decided to heed Charles’ words, and had tracked down Beast for some answers.

Briefly, he considered just barging in like he normally would, but knowing that he probably wasn’t much welcome, and without his powers that’d be ill-advised.

Erik had never been a particularly polite person; his mother had tried to teach him when he had been a young boy, but all manners had been thrown out of the window the instant Shaw had got a hold of him in the camps. Many years on the run and hunting down Nazis had not helped much either, and people had never dared to say anything if they felt offended. The only other person who had ever dared comment on his manners had been Charles, but it was always in subtle gestures like a raised eyebrow, a touch, or some carefully selected words. Sometimes, when Erik would say something extraordinary rude, Charles would find it too amusing to scold him for it and smile at him with that stunning smile of his, all laughter and mirth.

Now was not one of those times however so he knocked, feeling awkward as he stood there by himself in the long, abandoned hallway. He shifted from foot to foot restlessly as he waited, wondering if Hank had any answers to Charles’ situation. Erik hoped that the other mutant did, because if he didn’t Erik would have to take matters into his own hands once again.

The door slid open with a _swoosh_ and in the door stood Moira MacTaggert, a stunned expression on her face which Erik himself reflected back at her.

“Moira, who was it?” A rough man’s voice sounded from further into the room, but Erik paid it no attention as he stared at the much older face of the CIA agent him, Charles and the rest of their ragtag team had worked with so many years previous.

MacTaggert seemed to be in as much shock as Erik herself, her mouth moving silently as she tried to force some words out.

“Moira?” The voice came again, but this time more wary. A blue head popped up behind Moira’s shoulder, which Erik quickly recognised as Beast’s furry features.

Forcing himself to get over his shock, Erik coughed, before saying dryly, “It’s nice to see you again, MacTaggert. And alive and remembering, none the less,”

The old CIA agent visibly bristled at his word, her fiery temper ever-present. Erik would never admit to it, but he had always admired her passion and temper; it made her a good agent, but also a good friend. A valuable asset to Charles and the X-men.

Hank stepped in, having obviously noticed the tenseness between the two, “Was there something you wanted, Magneto?” then he frowned, “And where’s Charles? I thought he’d be with you,”

“He was,” Erik confirmed simply, “but there was something I said which he found upsetting, so I thought it best to leave him alone for a while.”

“That’s... surprisingly considerate of you.” Moira said with a frown, but Erik chose to ignore the jab, instead focusing on the reason why he found himself in the presence of two people he’d rather not waste most of his afternoon on.

“May I come in?”

The two scientists shared a look, and if Erik didn’t know any better he would have sworn they were having a silent telepathic conversation between themselves. After a few seconds Beast nodded, allowing Erik to enter the vast, sterile lab. There was a faint hum of metal in the background, and if the ferrokinetic had his powers that hum would have been a loud siren’s song calling to him to come play.

“I will ask you again, what do you want, Erik?” Hank’s blue fur seemed to bristle; probably an unconscious reaction to a threatening presence. Sometimes it was easy to forget how much the brilliant scientist was affected by the animalistic instincts of his mutation, just like it was easy to forget the raw power hidden just under the surface of Charles’ cardigan and suit-covered skin.

Settling himself gingerly down on a stool – he was still sore after last night, Erik hummed thoughtfully, “I have a few questions, which I suspect you have the answers to,”

“If this is about the Cure –” Hank started, but Erik was quick to interrupt;

“No, it’s not. It’s about Charles.” He drew a quick breath, afraid they’d cut him off again with more stupid assumptions, “What happened to him?”

Moira and Hank shared a look once again, but this time there seemed to be no silent conversation, just confusion, uncertainty and – was that fear? Erik knew fear, had learned to recognise it in his enemies many years ago, and these people nothing more than enemies which he shared a moment of peace with due to a common interest.

“It’s... complicated,” Hank bit his lip, one pointed tooth catching his lip, “We don’t know for certain ourselves and none of our tests have turned up with anything, except –”

“Except that the fMRI scan showed irregular brain activity. The scan also didn’t seem able to collect data from the temporal lobes and frontal cortex, which is a huge red flag, because –”

“Moira, please, you have to consider that we are dealing with a telepath. God knows how that man’s brain works. We can’t rely on abnormalities like that in our assessments because we are dealing with someone who is one big abnormality himself.” Hank said with a sigh, making Erik suspect that the two scientists have had this conversation once before.

MacTaggert’s frown deepened, emphasising her wrinkled face even more, “I know that Hank, but we should still consider the possibility, especially considering the episode he had yesterday. He lost control completely, and that is nothing like him. This was the only thing we have to go on right now, and –”

Feeling fed up with the discussion between the two, Erik stood from his seat, the stool sliding over the tiled floor with a screech, which was enough to grab McCoy and MacTaggert’s attention, “If you’d please,” he said as patiently as he could, “Explain to me what is happening to Charles without the unnecessary patter, I’d be very thankful.”

“Well,” Moira said, all professionalism and determination despite the uncertainty reflected in her eyes, “We might have a theory,”

“Which is what, exactly?” Erik was getting more impatient by the second, and did not like the way the blue giant and the old CIA agent kept shifting and exchanging glances like uncertain, infatuated teenagers.

Hank’s face fell, his blue fur seeming to flatten against his skin, “You are not going to like it,”

“Tell me.”


	13. Will You Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the positive feedback and comments! You are all lovelies :) 
> 
> The story hasn't really progressed much these last few chapters, but buildup will be necessary in the future for the story to make sense (I hope). 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was past midday and Charles found himself sitting in the medical wing with only himself and ghosts for company for the past few hours. As the day before, – _and oh god, had it only been a day?_ – he had curled up on one of the hard visitor’s chairs next to Fiona’s bed, watching her in her vegetative state.

Her breath came out in even rhythms, her small chest contracting and expanding slowly as her heart monitor gave regular feedback of her somatic condition to the quiet room.

Charles could still hear the faint murmur of the students and teacher in the back of his head if he focused, but the oppressing silence of the ward was a much welcome distraction. He couldn’t bear to hear his students’ confused and frightened thoughts about Magneto and himself, nor could he listen to Erik’s doubts and distrust.

All these strong emotions were overwhelming, and Charles felt his own fear and doubt amplify and grow as he heard more and more reasons as to why he didn’t belong – not at this school, not even in this life.

He rested his forehead on his knees as he attempted to match his own breathing to Fiona’s. Anything to direct his attention from the niggling doubt in his head, and the knowledge that he didn’t belong.

Erik had questioned what had brought him back, what kind of force which such power to be able to do such a thing. Charles’ knew, but feared what implications it would have to admit that information out loud.

The Phoenix was a strong creature, but was not flawless. She had torn him apart piece by piece, and Charles had in his moment of vulnerability been exposed to the vastness of her powers, but also her own vulnerability; Dark Phoenix was fuelled by her rage, but rage alone made people unable to reach their true potential, but more importantly made them inattentive and sloppy. This imbalance might potentially have saved and doomed Charles Xavier from the afterlife.

History had an ironic way of repeating itself, Charles thought sourly, as Jean’s scream resonated through his head.

The nightmare seemed to haunt him in his self-induced exclusion. The way Jean’s eyes turned black as she picked him apart piece by piece. How she screamed as she jumped at and through him, starling him awake.

 _You did this_.

He looked at the girl lying still as a ghost before him, and felt his heart clench painfully. It wasn’t the persistent heavy weight or hollow burn which had bothered him as of late, but rather a heart-wrenching pull which Charles knew could only be caused by the love he had for his students and this school.

It made him feel like him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice said behind him, making Charles jump in his chair as limbs flied everywhere.

In an attempt to compose himself and redeem what little dignity he has left, he straightened in his chair, his back ramrod straight as he coughed into his hand. “Storm,” he greets stiffly, feeling embarrassed that someone had sneaked up on him once again. He barely glances at the woman as she sits down gingerly next to him, flashing him a brief, sad smile in the process.

“She’ll be fine, Professor,” She said, her reassuring words failing to have their intended effect, as Charles only stares down at the immobile girl in front of them.

“You don’t believe that,” He replied flatly after a moment.

Her startled, hurt look made his heart twinge again, and he took a deep, calming breath. He didn’t want to harm or hurt Ororo in any way, but right now he wanted to be alone and his patience was wearing thin. It didn’t give him permission to be a dick though, he reminded himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, “I didn’t mean to snoop. I just seem to be in less and less control these days, and I can’t seem to help it. I know it’s not an excuse, but...” He cut himself off before he said too much, not wanting to worry Ororo more than he already had.

Charles slumped down in his seat, “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he apologised for this time around. For being there? Ruining everything? For Jean and Scott?

A careful hand touched his shoulder, “Professor,” Storm’s voice was gentle and soothing, like the whistle of the wind on a cold autumn evening. “You need to stop blaming yourself like this. What has happened to you... it isn’t your fault, and what happened with Fiona isn’t either.”

Silence settled between them as both of them focused their attention at the white, crisp sheets engulfing the young body before them.

As much as Charles wanted Ororo’s word to be true, he couldn’t find himself believing them; true, whatever had happened to him that day in the Gray’s house was not entirely his fault, but it was his own fault to return to the manor and not being able to keep his powers under control. That control felt like it was slipping through his fingers for each day, and he realised if things didn’t change any time soon, he would have to leave again.

“Don’t leave,” Storm said abruptly, her voice low in volume yet seemed to echo off the white tiles around them. “Please, not again,”

Charles gaped at her in surprise, then realised that he was probably broadcasting his distressed thoughts loud enough for Storm to have heard. “I... don’t want to, but –” he took hold of her hand which was still resting on his shoulder and squeezed, “It’s for the best. I know what you said, but my control is slipping rapidly and I can’t stay here when things get out of hand,” _again_. He couldn’t harm any more of his students.

“Then let me help you,” Storm said softly, her gentle smile warming Charles’ old heart. Yet he couldn’t help but feel dubious about what she was about to suggest to him.

“What are you suggesting right now?”

“Let _us_ help you, Professor, like you once helped all of us. You once offered all of us a home when we had none, and taught us how to use our abilities when no one else understood nor could. Let us do the same for you.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer, Ororo, I don’t know if I could.” He said, letting his hand slip away from hers and wrapping his arms around his legs which protested at the motion after such a long time sitting down. “Before you start assuming; it’s not because I don’t trust you or Logan or any of the other teachers not to be able to help. I believe you would make an amazing effort and make great results with me, but I think I have overstayed my welcome here.”

Storm’s face was carefully blank, but her mind was reeling in confusion, surprise and hurt “But Charles, this is your home!”

He smiled, his face reflecting the same gentleness that she had showed him just moments ago. “And it is, and always will be to some extent.” he said, then chuckled darkly, “You know, Ororo, when I was little I swore I would never come back here. Too many bad memories. But then the X-men came along and the school started, and all that went away. I was happy,”

Charles got up from his chair and stretched his legs before turning to face her. Storm was still sitting down and seemed so small when he stood over her like this. It reminded him when she had first come here and she had been a little girl with beautiful white hair and dark skin and all the enthusiasm and kindness despite the way her family and people had treated her for being different.

“Was? She questioned, sounding unsure.

“I am just thinking that this might not be the right place for me anymore. You are the leader now, not me. I don’t want to impose. Besides, maybe it’s time I turned over a new leaf. Who knows what could happen.”

Storm looked thoughtfully at him, and Charles felt scrutinized down to his very core, like she was almost looking right through him.

“I don’t understand,” she said eventually, turning her gaze back to the girl before them.

Charles heaved a sigh, “I was dead – still am officially. I can’t just come back from that like nothing happened, ‘cause something obviously did. I mean, just look at me,” he gestured to himself before doing a little twirl for emphasis. His hair flopped into his eyes and his feet shuffled awkwardly underneath him as he came to a halt facing Storm again. “This look doesn’t exactly scream Professor X, esteemed scientist and mutants’ right activist, does it?”

“Well,” Storm said dryly, “That sweater doesn’t exactly help.”

“Of all the things – there’s nothing wrong with this jumper!” Charles snapped, annoyed despite himself while clutching the warm, dark fabric in his hands. Raven had given him that too, many years ago.

“Just like there’s nothing wrong with you,” Storm smiled ruefully before getting up from her chair as if to leave. “Maybe you’re right though; maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf... but who’s to say that it can’t be here?”

Charles stared silently at her, knowing exactly what she was trying to tell him, but not certain whether _she_ understood entirely why he couldn’t stay. Storm’s reasoning was flawed and biased, and he couldn’t put others at risk just because he was a selfish, old bastard who was too stubborn and afraid to go into the real world alone. He just couldn’t.

The door to their mini-hospital opened with a quiet _swoosh_ , and Charles realised he had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed her leaving.

_Think about it. Charles._

***

Erik didn’t manage to find him in the library before dinnertime that day, so Charles silently congratulated himself on still not being an entire failure yet while the now older man chastised him for leaving Erik alone with a bunch of children and idiots.

Charles listened as Erik complained, carefully putting down his precious book by R.Dawkins on _the Selfish Gene_ next to him on the big windowsill he was occupying. He used to like to sit there when he was little because it not only provide him with a safe-haven, but also a lovely view of the forest stretching far away from behind the Westchester mansion where he once imagined he would run away to with Raven someday.

“That’s quite enough, thank you,” Charles grumbled impatiently when he eventually got tired of listening to Erik’s ranting about how he was going to shave off all of Hank’s stupid fur and attach Logan to the roof. “How are you going to do any of those things anyway? It’s not like you have your mutation anymore,”

It was the harsh truth and Charles instantly regretted opening his mouth when he saw Erik’s shocked face. He knew how much Erik took pride in his mutation – defined his identity around it even, and Charles realised that in a way they were both terribly lost right now.

“I’m sorry, old friend, I didn’t mean – ”

“Yes, you did.” Erik cut him off, but Charles was surprised to find that he didn’t sound angry, only remorseful. “But I can’t blame you for speaking the truth.”

Charles wanted to object, but knew it was pointless to argue with Erik when he was in a funk. Fiddling with his hands, he brought up the subject which had plagued him since his talk with Storm earlier; “I’m considering leaving the school.”

Erik hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t comment. He only took a seat in the small loveseat in the corner of the room closest to the window.

“I can’t stay, it’s too dangerous.” _I’m too dangerous_ , Charles didn’t say, but the point was implied.

Again Erik didn’t answer, and Charles felt frustration starting to boil in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know whether his temper these days came from the excess of testosterone he had the pleasure of experience of late or if it was simply because having to deal with Erik.

“I know what you are going to say, but there’s no point in arguing with me on this matter. I have decided. I’m going to leave all of this behind. Maybe move back to Europe. It’s in everyone’s best interest.”

“Okay.” Erik said simply, seemingly inspecting his dirty nails.

Charles felt his temper flare; didn’t Erik care that he might not see him again? He took a deep breath to calm himself, before saying flatly, “What do you mean okay? You never agree with me,”

Erik levelled him with a knowing stare, “You know what’s best, Charles. You always have done, even when you were wrong. I’m not going to argue with you on something so petty.”

“But don’t you care?” The instant the words slipped out of his mouth he regretted it, because he knew he was being childish and guilting Erik’s conscience . He was above that; he wanted to appeal to people’s logic and reason, not their pity. Charles couldn’t stand being pitied.

This was also a well-known fact to Erik whose head snapped up in surprise, “What do you want from me, Charles – Pity? To beg you to stay? You know I won’t do that. I am not going to ask you to stay if you don’t want to. I know how much you care about your students, but that you are scared – yes, scared, of what your lack of control might do to them.”

Charles got up from his seat in the window, “I’m going for a walk.” His irritation and anger was palpable in the air, he knew Erik could feel it. Charles could feel it himself the way his chest tightened and burned, seeming to twist into something ugly every time he lost his temper. Whatever it was he should get it checked by Hank, but he had worried him and Moira enough.

“You are not walking out on me for the second time today, Charles.” Erik’s words washed over him like a bucket of icy water, making him halt in the doorway. Charles turned, his arms folded defensively in front of him. “Fine,” He grounded out, his tone clipped with annoyance.

Erik got up from his seat more gracefully than any man in his seventies should be able to and walked over to stop in front of Charles who glared up at Erik from underneath dark bangs. Charles would have liked to brush the stands away, but that would mean easing his defensive stance and the ferrokinetic might take it as a sign of weakness, or worse, adherence.

“What are you running from, old friend?” Erik asked, his voice calming and soft and his eyes imploring.

Underneath the surface though, Charles could feel all of Erik’s questions swirling around, many of which was the same he had wondered himself over the past week; _what’s happened to you? When did you become like this? Charles, what’s going on? CharlesCharlesCharles.._.

Erik’s mind was bombarding him with concern and questions, and Charles could feel a headache starting to bloom inside his own head.

Sighing, Charles rubbed at his temple, “I don’t know,” he said resigned and dropped his defensive stance. “It’s like I said, I don’t know anything anymore,”. At least it seemed like he would be able to hold it together this time around, he thought begrudgingly.

A hand gingerly touched his cheek, snapping Charles out of his thoughts, and Charles looked up in surprise at Erik who looked at him with something akin to affection and sympathy.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “We’ll figure this out, Charles.”

Despite his current turbulent emotions, a pensive smile tugged at Charles’ lip and he nodded, feeling the rough calluses of Erik’s hand rub against his skin.

“Will you stay?”

“Yes.”


End file.
